


The Nine Knights

by ForeignTongues



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Cheating, Dark Merlin, Elyan - Freeform, First Three Chapters Edited, Follow my instagram @kay_elizabethann for engagement photos!, Gen, Ghost Possession, Gwaine - Freeform, Gwen - Freeform, Haunting, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, If you get through the first chapter I think you’ll like it, Ive been away cos I got engaged!!’, Lancelot - Freeform, Not adding many tags because I don’t want to give shit away, Percival - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The whole fuckin shabang, arthur isn’t a total dick, canon AU, chapter six is brutal, creepy af, honestly these tags are so confusing, leon - Freeform, making up tags as i go, merlin whump, self destructive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-06-24 01:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeignTongues/pseuds/ForeignTongues
Summary: The city of Adema will bring Camelot better prosperity in trade, never mind its war-filled history and the tales of Nicolas and the nine knights that slayed Arthur’s Great-Grandfather. Merlin knows the risks better than anyone, but even he cannot protect his friends from himself. Something’s inside him, and it’s not his own.If you like more in-depth looks at every character included and Merlin whump with more of a psychological process explained, this is for you. Parts are dark, but overall not much more so than your average depressed!Merlin. This could be called an episode fic that doesn’t stray from canon.Inspiration taken from the backstory for the album “Trench”.





	1. Bourbaki’s Adema

“Alright everyone, I’ve an announcement to make.” Arthur’s voice boomed through the stillness of the court room claiming each person’s rapt attention. Except that of Merlin, who stood in his usual position by Gaius at the foremost pillar; he instead was transfixed upon the tinted glass windows to his right and the way the dust danced in the colored sunlight.

There was a nudge at his side, and he swiveled to see Gaius offering a stern look of disapproval before motioning his attention to the king with a nod of his head. Merlin didn’t understand the importance of such a meeting of which he already knew most of the content.

The Elders had been conversing with King Arthur for the past few weeks about extending the kingdom’s control over different portions of land for access to better trade routes. Different areas were in question after the vacation of another kingdom’s colony; the colony was uprooted due to seemingly poor agricultural grounds. Arthur had mentioned this in passing for his servant's inquiries of the latest news in unifying the kingdoms. Offering trade with nobility who Camelot had yet to create treaties with would show a mark of peace. 

Merlin focused back on Arthur as silently ordered by his uncle.

“It has been decided through careful consideration of the counsel that we shall expand our borders on the east,” Arthur stated with a smile. “Our neighbors in the kingdom of Lothloria have made a treaty to allow trade between our walls, and thus we shall claim the stretch of uninhabited land nearer to Lothloria, the city of Adema, to have timely access as opposed to our former, longer route.”

Warm feelings of satisfaction filled the room; the peasants and the nobility gathered were more than happy to hear the news. Trade with a kingdom they had no access to before would provide new foods, culture, techniques and medical skills that the people had not been exposed to previously. And furthermore, it was another step towards the peace between the five kingdoms that their king promised he would fight to create.

Merlin beamed at his friend, whose eyes skirted over the crowd hoping to see favorable reactions. Catching Merlin’s eye, Arthur’s grin widened.

“In the following week, I and other knights of Camelot will be sent forth to scour the land and will bring along merchants who wish to make their business in Adema, where as you know, there shall be a bigger flux and the possibility of better economic success for your families. The former villagers already created a settlement so, as far as housing, those willing to move to this new land will be granted settlements until the resources have expired. From there the plan will be to expand and bring in carpenters to truly help the trade route flourish.”

“Sire, may I offer my counsel?” Gaius spoke, interrupting the speech. Merlin couldn’t see why; there were no obvious problems with the trade agreement. But, if Merlin was sure of anything, it was that whenever his uncle spoke up before the king, it was usually to educate them all on some magical dilemma they were about to encounter.

A little confused but nevertheless gracious, Arthur answered, “Yes, of course Gaius. You are always free to speak your mind.”

“Thank you Sire,” Gaius bowed. “I’m sure you’ve heard tales of Adema’s history.”

“I have,” Arthur assured him.

“Then you are aware of the legends, too, of Sir Nicolas and his knights, sire? It is only found in rumor, but there have been reports of sightings within Adema since the passing of your great-grandfather. Surely there are other, safer trade routes to begin settlement in?”

Merlin questioned Gaius with a glance. Sir Nicolas and his knights? He’d never heard of the tale.

“I’m well aware of what has preceded in the history between my blood-line and Adema, but I cannot hold onto mutterings of bed time stories and keep away from the safest trade route possible,” Arthur explained. “There have been no reports in a good 40 years of anything troubling that city. It is safe, Gaius.”

The man didn’t look too pleased with Arthur’s assurances, but bowed to his words anyways. Arthur nodded at Gaius and resumed addressing the gathered people.

“At dawn, we will head for the city. This will be the first search, so any merchants are welcome to follow, but are not required to do so. For those who do decide to take the journey, we will provide horses and food for you and your families in this time of travel. Everyone is dismissed.”

People erupted into action and conversation as soon as the king stepped down from his throne. A pair of merchants bustled out of the doors as fast as possible, given that they had merely twenty-four hours to prepare for the journey. The rest stood and talked in celebration, the majority being noble families who were a part of the counsel's decision.

Gaius grabbed Merlin’s shoulder with a knobby grip before he went blundering about the castle in order to pack supplies.

“Merlin,” he muttered, “come to my chambers. We need to discuss something.”

 

“Who is this 'Sir Nicolas'? And what happened between Arthur’s forefathers and the man’s company?” Merlin inquired the second Gaius had hurried him through the door and locked the wood shut. When his uncle turned around, Merlin saw how grave he was.

“He was once the king of Adema,” Gaius answered. “And Arthur’s forefather, King Uthlon, battled over obtaining the city.”

Gaius stepped over to the table and swung his legs over the bench, adopting the position of his elbows touching the table and interlaced hands supporting his chin. Merlin took his normal seat on the opposite side, his attention enhanced. 

"So that was how the Pendragons came into power: war," Merlin stated, not surprised in the slightest.

"Yes," Gaius said, "but it was a war against magic as well."

Merlin raised a brow, intrigued.

“When Sir Nicolas sat upon the throne, he commanded that magic be a welcomed part of the city because of its benefits, as many kings did in the olden days. The king himself was a well renowned sorcerer.”

"I would give anything to have lived in that kind of kingdom," Merlin remarked. 

“They were prosperous,” Gaius conceded, “but Uthlon wanted nothing more than to eradicate all magic in the realm.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Indeed.” Gaius sighed. “The Pendragon’s had yet to conquer a kingdom of their own and were looking towards the east, which was closest to the settlements they ruled over. Uthlon thought it advantageous to conquer Adema and abolish the use of magic within the city. Over the course of three weeks, the battle had been won, and Uthlon ordered the hangings of Sir Nicolas and his military in front of the public, condemning them to hell as traitors to the Christian word. Before dying, Nicolas’ final words to Uthlon and his people were a curse.”

“Of course its a curse; when are we not dealing with such things," Merlin groaned. "I was hoping that this would be one of the few times that we'd have a win, without bandits or begrudging sorcerers involved."

“Merlin, listen to me,” Gaius chided. “The land is not safe. Years after Uthlon conquered Adema, he and his people were forced to disperse into neighboring lands by what was recorded as 'ghosts of the fallen king and his most trusted company.' They slaughtered nearly all of the people in Adema, including Uthlon himself. Up until the very end he didn’t believe them to be more than uprising citizens who wished for the old ways, despite what the reports said. But when he and the nine knights descended on the citadel, he’d no choice but to see the truth. They cut off his head and murdered the royal staff, but showed mercy to Uthlon’s wife, in hopes that the gracious former princess would teach her son in the same ways as she and Nicolas had been risen, not in Uthlon’s idea of tirade against magic. She and others fled the city and returned to their other conquered villages where she directed the people and raised the prince.”

“And how did he turn out, Uther’s father?” Merlin asked.

Gaius grimaced. “He was a fair judge, Uthorn, and he was willing to listen to reason in terms of magic holders, but that changed. His mother, Eras- in her later years, she was kidnapped for ransom by sorcerers in another land. Uthorn gave the men everything they wanted in return for his beloved mother, hoping they would spare her. But she was sent back in a crate, torn and mutilated.”

Merlin cast his eyes downward. “So Uther’s father, he learned to hate magic, and passed that down to Uther?”  
Gaius nodded sadly. “Uther never met Eras, but Uthorn’s cruelty and relentlessness towards magic bled into Uther. And when he conquered Camelot, Uther made the same actions of his grandfather in eradicating magic from the land and banning its use. The momentary lapse of 'reason' when Uther trusted the Old Religion and commanded Nimueh to give Ygraine fertility sealed Camelot's fate forever.”

It made more sense to Merlin now, how the hatred for magic came to Uther. It had always confused him how the man betrayed every sorcerer for the sins of Nimueh, but knowing that the Pendragon lineage was wrought with distrust of those with magic finally filled in the holes.

“If Arthur and his people journey to this city, there’s no guarantee the curse will not apply to him as well,” Gaius warned.

“But Arthur is fair,” Merlin contested, “the ghosts should understand that he is the change that the Old Religion has long awaited, shouldn’t they?”

“There is nothing to prove that they will know the difference. All time has distorted their understanding. If they sense the blood of a Pendragon, they are likely to blindly attack.”

Merlin swallowed and stared at the staircase above him, trying to glean something from its contents.

“There must be something in these books that would tell how to fight against spirits,” Merlin said, rising from the table firmly and beginning to ascend the steps. Gaius stopped him with an arm.

“All ghosts are the same, Merlin. Keeping a ring of salt will protect your camp. But as for killing them, well, spirits cannot be killed, as they are already dead. They’re immortal beings.”

“Then- wait,” Merlin said, “would Arthur’s sword stand a chance against them?”  
Gaius turned back into his seat with thought.

“In theory, yes,” he replied, Merlin being not too keen on the factuality of 'in theory,' “but you must be careful. This is dangerous dark magic, Merlin. I don’t know how your own will react.”

"I have to go with him," Merlin said resolutely. "It is my duty, Gaius."

“I know,” Gaius replied. “But please, you must take care.”

Merlin studied Gaius' aging face. They'd been at this so long that Merlin expected this conversation would be a thing of the past. Instead, they both grew more tired and weary. Perhaps it was the constant reminder that any mistake would mean impending doom, or maybe, that every time Merlin came back from a journey, Gaius would be forced to doctor wounds of incrementing severity. 

“I promise, I’ll take care of myself too. Just for you," Merlin said. He moved around the table to meet Gaius with a hug. They held it for a long moment, letting their solemnity be comforted.


	2. Prelude

Merlin was fine. 

Really. He was. 

If he was disgustingly relieved to hear that there was yet another curse he had to protect his king from, he couldn’t quite admit it to himself. 

It wasn’t that he longed for danger, for Arthur to be in constant peril and Merlin be the secret savior- he didn’t believe it was that. 

But as the weeks quieted and dragged despairingly onward without so much as a disgruntled kitchen worker, Merlin could not help feeling flighty. Insects crawled under his skin and his stomach joined into knots; his hands shook like he’d often visited the Rising Sun and his smile wasn’t genuine. 

He hypothesized that the idea of imminent danger gave him a sort of importance in protecting those he loved. There was never a dull moment, only determination and boundless strength. 

And then, when the attack was over, when the quest had been conquered, there was nothing but silence and an eery anticipation for the next big drama. Merlin would start to feel useless, stuck in place, like a rut he’d walked on for so long that it became a six-foot deep grave. 

So as he prepared for the journey next morning, he could not help the canvas of relief his feelings painted. He’d fed and watered the horses and packed food as well as gathering a few medicinal supplies in case it was needed. Merlin’s change of clothes and his bed roll were sitting patiently by his door for the morning. 

At this time, the hour was late, and the last preparation Merlin needed to make was that of packing for Arthur. He treaded through the marble hallways and cast glances at passerby’s, but maintained focus on the buzz of adrenaline creeping into his system. 

When he arrived at the king’s door, Merlin wrapped his knuckles thrice, and stood quietly behind the door. 

A few moments passed where Merlin heard nothing. A sudden sinking feeling churned in his gut. 

“Sire?” he called in a louder tone than the knocking, but no response was made. He gave it a few seconds before saying, “Alright, Arthur, I’m entering.” 

Merlin turned the knob with hesitation because surely this would be the same as the other nights and he didn’t want to witness it any longer. But there, sitting at his decorated table, was Arthur, a pitcher of ale with three fourths of its contents drafted, and a chalice that the king pressed to his parted lips like water in a desert. 

“Merlin,” drunken Arthur greeted, “come in.” His words slurred slightly at the end and the movement of his gestures was sloppy. Arthur set the chalice on the table forcefully and a little ale spilled onto the wood. 

“Have you made preparations for tomorrow?” Arthur inquired, looking rather hazy into Merlin’s eyes. Merlin stood and withheld a sigh, forcing his lips to move and a smile to grace his face. He shut the door behind him and approached the king. 

“Yes, all that’s left is to gather your things. That’s why I’m here.”

Arthur’s eyes brightened like enlightenment. “Ah! Of course. Go right ahead.” 

Merlin shook his head minutely at the increasingly daft Arthur before him and went about folding clothes into a bag. 

It had been going on too long, really, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. In the weeks since Gwen had been banished, certain nights Merlin would find Arthur in a drunken spiel to incinerate any emotions of woe. He’d yet to confront the problem because a couple of times seemed applicable for someone who has just lost their love, but right before a quest to expand the borders? Arthur would be hungover and depleted on the start tomorrow. Merlin didn’t want to have to deal with a less than pleasant Arthur, but he also couldn’t quite believe that Arthur would indulge himself like this before a task of great importance. 

Once the pack was filled with all the necessary items, Merlin walked silently to the table and set the bag on the floor. Arthur paid him no attention, readily gulping down the drink. 

Merlin pulled a chair next to Arthur and sat slowly. He feared Arthur would react as a frightened animal to any confrontation in this state, but he pursued anyways. 

“This needs to stop, Arthur,” Merlin gently ordered. “Drinking the nights away won’t give you the solace you seek.” 

“What the hell are you on about,” Arthur spoke, adjusting himself to face Merlin. The anxiety in Merlin’s chest multiplied. 

“The drinking. It’s because of Gwen, isn’t it?” Merlin inquired sheepishly. His eyes fluttered downward. 

Arthur took a cold stare to Merlin, anger rising in color on his cheeks. He gripped the chalice so tightly his hand began to shake. 

“Get out. Now.” Arthur gritted his teeth. Merlin met his stare and swallowed shyly, but remained determined. 

“You know that you can speak to me, right? I love Gwen, she’s a dear friend, and I miss her too.” 

“Why in God’s name would I talk to you,” Arthur spat, “You’re a bumbling idiot, Merlin. Get out of my room before I have you sent to the dungeons.” 

Merlin felt beyond hurt. Of course he did. But was he not used to this? Arthur, when counseled, forming his despair into wrath at anyone who dares to reach too deep inside his psyche. He knew it too, that Arthur was lashing out because of fear. But he couldn’t help the tears in his eyes. To dedicate your life to protecting and helping a man and to be faced constantly with disdain and maltreatment... It had an affect on Merlin. 

“Right,” Merlin said, rising from the chair. Arthur wouldn’t look at him now, and gazed resolutely on the brown drink in his chalice. Merlin grabbed the pack and slung it over his right shoulder, breathing steadily so as to collect himself. He didn’t want to show Arthur any weakness in him more than the man already believed he had. 

Merlin opened the door and looked out into the hallway, about to proceed. But then, he spoke once more to Arthur, his back towards the king. 

“I’ll always be here for you Arthur, if you need me. Just remember that.” 

When the door closed and Merlin trudged back to his chambers, Arthur allowed himself to cry with the mannerisms of a lonely, broken child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was mostly an explainer, but now I’m getting into the shit I actually want to write, which are the emotions and relationships between these characters. I have a solid idea of this story in my head but the details fluctuate with my personal problems and feelings at the time. I’m not sure how many chapters this is going to be but I hope you’re in for the long hall.  
> Yes this chapter might have been inspired by me getting drunk for three days straight because depression fam  
> Leave a comment about any ideas or feelings you have concerning this work so far. And yes, there definitely will be a lot of mention of Camelot’s knights in this story.


	3. Mischief and Murder

Three days had passed with no incident, and it was driving Merlin mad.

Arthur, the knights of the Round Table, and a couple of merchants by the family name Ellish followed him in the company setting upon Adema.

Arthur had been correct in his statements about safety. They’d passed a number of borders, and yet, no bandits or enemy kings-men had caused a quarrel to sabotage the quest. Part of Merlin was relieved, but the majority of his thoughts zeroed in on the silence lining the forests at nighttime and the persistent tremor in his hands. It was spreading steadily through his arms, and had acquired his knees as well, so that whenever they stopped for a break, he almost fell trying to dismount his horse.

The company in and of itself was cheerful and comfortable, which made Merlin stick out like a sore thumb. The Ellish’s were husband and wife, both rather successful looking people if judged by their plump weight, the quality of their clothing, and the pouches of coin they carried. It appeared a merchant’s life was not always a lousy one. The wife had a pleasant face like a loving grandmother while the man’s face frowned with aggressive eyebrows that fully contradicted his kind disposition.

If it were any other time, Merlin might have gotten to know them, but whenever spoken to, Merlin gave short and somber replies in order to quickly resume his dark musings. The Ellish’s learned not to pry the man.

If any of the knights besides Gwaine noticed, they kept the thought to themselves. Merlin was in a mood half the time because of his worry, and though they understood his incredible loyalty to the king, they didn’t understand what role Merlin played in helping him.

Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival were at the back of the company whilst Arthur and Leon stayed upfront, keeping the merchants and Merlin safe, as they were the civilians. From this aspect, Gwaine had a bird’s eye view of Merlin’s frantic movements at any sharp noise, the bend in his crouched back exposing his lethargy, and the subtle shaking in his shoulders. He was well aware of the extent of anxiety Merlin suffered from anytime they were on a possibly dangerous quest, but on this occasion it was odd for him; Merlin didn’t really believe in Gaius’ fairytales, did he?

Perhaps, Gwaine thought, he could lighten Merlin’s tone. And thus, out of ignorance, the prank was born.

Fifteen minutes swam along without much content. Merlin wouldn’t move his gaze from the bobbing neck of his horse, and how her mane tousled lightly in the breeze. It was the most calming thing Merlin could keep focus on. Frey, he called her, as an honor to Freya herself. He’d grown attached to the beast over the many years in Camelot and found peace in her quiet, gentle company.

“Everyone, wait-“ Elyan spoke suddenly. The company slowed their horses to a stop and joined in a ragged circle to face one another.

“What’s the matter?” Arthur asked, looking longingly towards the east. Everyone was beginning to feel the ache and need for rest, and they could almost smell the wind of Adema before them.

“Gwaine,” stated Perceval, “He’s disappeared.”

Realizing the vacancy, Merlin shot a hurried glance to Arthur, who looked bewildered himself.

“How the bloody hell did you lose Gwaine?” he asked.

“He was behind us one minute and then was gone the next; I don’t know what’s happened,” Elyan explained, and Percival nodded in agreement. “It’s like he vanished.”

Now Merlin was on the point of panic, gripping the reins so tightly his knuckles blushed pink. Perhaps Morgana had emerged from her putrid dungeons and plotted an attack on them while they were not expecting any trouble, but then, there must be a traitor in the castle... Who could that possibly be? He’d seen no one of suspicion as of late-

A yelp erupted in the forest not so far away, and Merlin listened with heaving breath until his mind processed the voice: it was Gwaine.

Arthur and Leon began shouting out to Gwaine and pulling their horses in the direction of the sound, preparing to stampede to his location and assist the man. Elyan and Percival seemed in shock, which wasn’t a normal sight for men usually stoic. Mr. Ellish motioned for his wife to back her horse up and began to use his steed as a shield in front of her.

And Merlin? His blood pumped so hard in his veins that he felt like he was about to burst. His chest felt like it was flying and made of air; all he could think to do was jump off of his horse and start running to Gwaine, so desperate to help the man while filled with impossible adrenaline.

That’s when they heard the pounding tread of horse hooves and settled in wait, all to see Gwaine riding through the trees with a sloppy grin parting his lips and proud shoulders that bounced along with the horse’s pace.

“I’m fine, no need to worry,” Gwaine said coming in close to the company near Merlin, who was frozen on Frey, eyes bulging, unable to process what just happened. “I was just playing a little joke on Merlin here.” He slapped a gruff hand to Merlin’s shoulder and gave a friendly squeeze, with no reaction from the latter.

Percival and Elyan burst into rapid laughter and shared knowing looks with each other.

“Ah, you bastards,” Leon said with a smirk that struggled against becoming a smile. “Don’t do that again, Gwaine. If you had returned from behind, I’d have cut you down as a bandit!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Gwaine taunted, retracting his arm from Merlin. The Ellish’s were too shy in the presence of nobility to do more than gather in the circle once more and chuckle with grins of relief, the elder man wrapping a comforting arm around his wife.

Arthur did his best to look stern, even though the knights recognized the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Come on men, this is a serious quest. There’s no time for romping about.”

Elyan and Percival’s laughter died off to barely contained snorts as they refocused on the king.

“And Gwaine?”

“Yes, Sire,” Gwaine answered, being jocular through his monotonous, respectful response.

“If you run off again, go ahead and return to Camelot. We don’t need shenanigans.” Arthur’s lips turned to a warmly smile despite his words.

“Aye, captain,” Gwaine responded. That induced even more snickers from the other schemers, of course.

Merlin didn’t say a word throughout this until the moment they continued onward; he retreated behind the Ellish’s to where he could speak side-by-side with Gwaine.

“That really wasn’t funny,” he murmured, just loud enough that Gwaine could hear. “I thought something had gotten you.”

“Take a load off, Merlin,” Gwaine offered. He gestured to the scenery of the bright forest around them and said, “Nothing bad can come from this trip. In fact, we should be celebrating! It’s not often we get cozy with a neighboring kingdom!”

Elyan, overhearing from behind, nodded his head in agreement where Merlin could see him. Merlin huffed.

Shuffling his horse forward so that he could speak privately, Merlin tried again to reprimand Gwaine.

“I’m serious, we need to stay together. There’s something bad in Adema; I can almost feel it.”

“Always the worry-wart,” Percival popped up from behind. Both he and Gwaine grinned playfully at Merlin, who trampled forward in exasperation.

It was useless trying to get through to them. Might as well keep his mouth shut.

 

He was useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a lot of grace from y’all with updating because this is my first year at college and I’m an unstable, compulsive person so it’s a hard transition and I’ve been throwing myself into my school work lol but I finished this earlier in the week and was going to add onto it but I decided it’s going to be longer before I can sit down and have the mindset to write so here is this  
> Like lit I’ve relapsed so bad lol but the story helps me get that shit out of my system so!1!2!2 just have patience lol 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Runny Nose

They made camp that night, the final night before they reached their destination.

Merlin didn't speak as the knights collected wood, after tying the horses to neighboring trees with a food pile on the ground before them. He did not acknowledge his friends when the sticks were gathered and he began the fire with a little magical expertise.

At a sluggish pace, Merlin retrieved the rabbit meat that Arthur had hunted down the day before and began cutting pieces to set over the fire. He took great care in each slice he made, because he feared that one small move with his shaking fingers would cause the loss of a pinkie. 

The knights and the king chattered amongst themselves in a group while standing between the grazing horses; Mr. Ellish, on the other hand, retreated to the fire on the opposite side of Merlin and silently watched the process, sitting complacently on the soft ground. His wife laid on her bed wrap a few feet away, dozing until dinner was prepared. 

After a few minutes of polite pondering, Mr. Ellish spoke. "How long have you been a servant for King Arthur?" 

He inquired in such a gentle, weathered voice that Merlin, meeting his eyes and pausing in flipping meat over the hot rocks with his knife, chose to give up his monastery silence for the sake of this kind old man.

"About seven years now," he responded, setting his knife on the ground and leaning back against a wooden log he'd snatched up before he'd ignited the fire. 

"It must be a great honor," Ellish said, eyes so bright for such a grand age. "I've traversed many kingdoms in my lifetime, but I have never met a king as courageous and just as King Arthur." 

Merlin couldn't help a little swell of pride that burdened his chest despite his quarrels with Arthur in recent days. "Yes," he acknowledged, "Arthur is the greatest of them all. He'll bring about change that no king has before."

Ellish grinned and clasped his wrinkled hands together, mindlessly twiddling his fingers. "You have much faith in him."

Merlin softened. The betrayal he so often felt by Arthur's friendship never seemed to overcome the love and kinship he had for the man, but it was different this time. A dark displeasure graced him, reminiscent of hopelessness and an exhaustion that he could not extinguish. 

"I do," Merlin said quietly. He looked away from Ellish and grabbed a nearby twig with which he stoked the dying fire. Seeing Merlin visibly retreat inside his psyche, Ellish took the queue to rise and go unpack his bed roll so he could lay near his wife.

 

Three chopped up rabbits with gathered water and herbs created a sufficient stew that Merlin prepared for everyone. As soon as he called to them, the cast-iron pot sitting in the middle of the bonfire and smoking with enticing fumes, all of the knights sped over to ladel themselves a bowl. Leon stayed behind and kindly woke Mr. and Mrs. Ellish. 

Arthur remained by his horse for a moment longer, watching his company. It was pitch dark by now, and the fire glared upon everyone's face with ghostly intrigue. They gathered around the fire and settled on the ground, beginning to blow the hot spoons of soup before gratefully filling their stomachs. Merlin served the elderly couple their bowls and held their servings until they were sat comfortably on the soil with the rest of them. Before long, Gwaine was speaking with a mouthful of rabbit to make up for the stillness that ensued during their indulgence. 

Everything was appealing, warm and golden, with the comforting smell of rabbit stew and ash in the clearing, the stars overhead gleaming and serene, and his comrades enjoying one another's company. 

The one thing amiss in the scenic picture was Merlin, who strayed from the dinner spot and walked off from the clearing before making himself a bowl. 

Arthur diverted his attention to the wood pile; it was full and would keep the fire going for another few hours, so no more gathering was needed. Perhaps nature called? Or maybe Merlin was just retreating into the woods to continue sulking away from friends?

The latter being more justifiable by Merlin's recent character, Arthur made as little noise as possible to follow the direction Merlin drifted from.

 

As soon as he hit a dense and cluttered area, Merlin took respite underneath a colossal elm tree, other smaller trees and vines brushing him at every angle. Being so near his friends, he could not escape the eerie premonition that surmounted on him; the closer they became to Adema, the wearier he grew. 

A thick depression of smog seeped into his bones and caused his thoughts to drag slowly, and things had grown worse since earlier in the day when Gwaine had spooked him. The fear of failing his friend still raced in his heart by the adrenaline that continued to lace his nervous system; he knew logically that no danger was currently present, but that did not stop the sympathetic reactions in his body. 

Merlin did not want to confront it, but a treacherous thought had crossed his mind in that petrifying moment. It was too out of character for him, and he had never had a selfish thought such as that. Clutching his knees together with embracing arms, Merlin coddled himself and tried to brush away the haunting course his brain had earlier taken. Surely he was stronger than that. 

It was just a thought, not an action. Thoughts could not hurt him, right?

He remembered a saying from a parable that his mother had often spoke of back in Ealdor; despite her son being borne of the Old Religion, Hunith held a special place in her heart for the teachings of Jesus, the man who had walked the earth some time five-hundred years prior and who had revolutionized the religious nature of Britain. It went something akin to, "If you so look at a woman with lust, you have committed adultery in your heart." 

The connotations of that message never left him, despite his disbelief in the so-called son of god. Because, in theory, how far was the process of thoughts to actions? In a second of impulsivity, anyone could commit a horrid crime and disregard their conscience. And with that reasoning, Merlin felt immense guilt. Who was to say that he would not one day act upon his selfish wantings?

Merlin screwed his face in disgust, holding his knees closer to his chest. He was strong, built to be the strongest sorceror of all in history. This "Jesus" had no hold over him, so why did he hate himself?

A rustle in the forest stole his attention immediately, and Merlin rapidly stood, swiveling around to see the cause of the noise. 

"Merlin-"

He jumped through his skin and turned to find Arthur stepping out from behind a tree, looking impish at the reaction he caused his servant. 

"My apologies," Arthur scratched his head and grimaced. "I just wanted to check on you."

"Check on me?" Merlin asked, incredulous. "'Scaring the hell out of me' is more like it."

Still. Arthur wanted to check on Merlin? What sort of empathy had overcome the man? Merlin braced himself before any conversation continued. 

"That's not hard to do," Arthur jibed, relaxing his arms to his sides and approaching Merlin, closing in the few feet of distance between them. "I, um..."

Arthur trailed off awkwardly, not meeting Merlin's eyes. He traced his eyes over sections of the woods and the moonlit sky, as if he'd find the correct words for speaking there. Merlin shuffled uncomfortably. 

"I wanted to say I'm sorry for, uh, the other day," Arthur choked out, finally returning his eyes to Merlin's after the trying sentence was concluded. "You were just trying to help. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Merlin was stunned. Arthur was truly apologizing, no matter how agonizing the king made it seem. He could not remember a time when Arthur had ever meant it. 

"It's fine, really," Merlin assured Arthur, trying to conjure a smile. He wanted nothing more than for this to be over with; something in him wanted to focus on the hurt that Arthur had caused him. It did not want to forgive. 

"No, I'm serious," Arthur continued, struggling a little less. He pasued, collecting breath before he spoke again.

"I don't know how to live without her."

He was supposed to feel empathy, to be the same stoic friend that he had been nights before. Merlin was supposed to be the protector and aid to the Once And Future King, but all he felt was anger. The damage was already done; Arthur could never take his actions and words back, and Merlin could not find the grace in himself to forgive what had deeply disturbed his soul. 

Arthur had come to apologize, yes. But what was the true motive? Merlin wasn't sure if Arthur had come to make peace with his friend and cheer him up or regain the empathy of the man so that he could have someone to use and abuse in a never-ending cycle. 

Maybe Arthur was sorry because he needed Merlin to be cheerful and selfless again for his own sake.

Merlin's blood boiled and his cheeks grew hot. He did not understand why he should take every beating he received from Arthur and turn the other cheek. Merlin was the one who kept the man alive and kicking, and the rare thanks he got was when Arthur needed Merlin for his own benefit. 

Merlin drew his arms behind his back and squeezed his fists to steady himself. He had no choice but to pretend so that he could carry along his dark thoughts in peace. Any more confrontation and he would cast Arthur against a tree.

"I know," Merlin acted with ease. "But we're all here for you: me, your knights, your people. Let yourself be helped; you cannot do everything alone, Arthur."

The king smiled, showing the appreciation he had for Merlin in a second's drawing of the curtain. 

"You do have your moments of great wisdom, you know. It's surprising," he joked, unable to cope with the rare sincerity of their interaction.

"You have to start believing in me someday," Merlin replied in a casual manner, not fully able to reach the level of banter in his tone.

"I don't think that'll ever come to pass," Arthur laughed. "Come on, let's head back to the camp before all of the stew is eaten."

Arthur strode in front of Merlin, not waiting for a reply, always taking the lead. Merlin stayed in position, all of his muscles tense and his pace of heart agitated. He tightened his shoulders and pried the rest of his muscles loose, letting his arms bear the height of his intensity by his sides. 

He glared at the back of Arthur, the chainmail and red cloth dimmed significantly in color and reflection. Arthur could have been a ghost, fading away into the stillness of night, doing nothing more than seeking Merlin out to enrage him. 

Beginning to follow behind him, Merlin's single thought was set upon the kitchen knife in the pouch of cooking utensils lying on the grass back at camp. He couldn't take out his fury on Arthur; he was not built for that. All his mind directed to was the idea of taking that knife and slicing himself to bits. 

He should've been scared by the thought, but he welcomed it with open arms, instead of shunning the morbidity like he'd done so earlier. Merlin was too far gone in his rage to care. He needed to release the tension that struck his chords, and the sole person he could take that gross wrath out upon was himself; he could destroy himself to spite the Triple Goddess, to spite the king, to spite his blasted destiny. 

Leaves crunched loudly underneath his heavy feet and Merlin's mind cancelled out all else except the naturalistic instinct to follow Arthur's footsteps and the morbid construction of his mind.

He failed to notice the spot of blood that dripped from his nose, falling on his leather jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been working my ASS OFF in college and have had nO timE to continue writing this but hello angst!!1!!1 Everything is finally coming to where they hit Adema and I’ll be writing that in the next chapter.  
> Dark! Shit! Ahead! Caution! 
> 
> Please let me know if y’all are actually still interested lmao I’ll post this anyways but I don’t know if anyone’s enjoying it or not,,,, because this isn’t really the juicy horror story part and is the sun shine in a meadow set up but hey! I try.


	5. Uthlon

When Arthur and Merlin arrived back at the camp, Merlin longed for the knife in his pack, but there was no opportunity for him to grab it and strike himself without Arthur or the knights following him into the woods once again. 

Though his blood was simmering with fantastic urges, Merlin realized that if he tried anything in the current time, he would be caught and watched over. 

Arthur strode in front of Merlin and came to the campfire where the knights and the merchants were eating their stew. He stood patiently as he viewed Merlin; his reluctance and his sour behavior worried Arthur, genuinely. It seemed that his apology had done nothing to perk Merlin up, but perhaps it would take some time.

He watched as Merlin skirted to the opposite side, Mrs. Ellish and Gwaine scooting from their spots to widen the circle for Merlin to have a seat. Merlin froze where he stood, eyes fluttering over the company and obviously biding time before he would be forced to join and eat the meal he'd prepared. 

Mrs. Ellish tilted her chin up to see Merlin's face when she noticed his pause, and setting her bowl down in front of her, she then reached to grasp Merlin's arm and gently drag him down to the earth. 

"Come now, you've made us all a wonderful meal! You need to enjoy it yourself!"

She grinned brightly and picked up an empty bowl from the double stack beside the fire, beginning to carefully ladel some of the soup into it. Merlin begrudgingly acquized and bent down to rest his rump on the soft soil and green threads of grass. Gwaine grabbed a spoon from beside the remaining bowl and forked it over to Merlin before quickly resuming scooping large chunks of rabbit into his gullet. 

Now that Merlin had a spoon and bowl of soup imposed on him and was sitting complacently, Mrs. Ellish appeared content. She returned to her own bowl as Merlin looked at the fire in a daze.

Realizing his manners, Merlin had the decency of mind to turn to her and say, "Thank you, Mrs. Ellish, you're very kind."

Mrs. Ellish waved her right hand in a gesture that read 'it was nothing', then reciprocated. 

"Please Merlin, call me Mary."

Arthur smiled from across the fire and finally took leave to sit amongst the rest of them, Mary already beginning to prepare the king a bowl.

 

Midday bore a raining heat on the company, leaving them quite tired. Adema was just a mile away now, and they craved to put an end to the arduously long journey. 

Merlin sunk heavier and heavier against the ribs of his horse. The obsession with destruction steadily rose in his thoughts, meaning everything else escaped him. He didn't notice the subtle change in weather when the clouds masked the sun or the echoing wind that whistled through the canals of his ears and caused the rest of the group to huddle closer to their horses in search of warmth. 

A tenth of the mile in, a few more degrees dropped, and Elyan began to feel perturbed. 

“Arthur, are you sure that this area is safe?" he asked, scanning the trees as if an arrow would suddenly lodge into his chest if he was not careful. Arthur shouted to the back so that Elyan would hear him. 

“Perfectly sure. Don't tell me you're losing your grit over Gaius' fairytales."

Elyan was indignant when Gwaine and Percival gave sarcastically questioning looks at him from the front. 

"Of course not Sire," he said. "I just would rather side on the air of caution."

He'd learned from the time of his possesion the nature of a spirited area: the cold, the wind, the ruins, but mostly the eerie silence that hardened the stomach and made it queasy. There was a feeling that he could not shake off, a feeling of emptiness and desolation in the earth.

This intuition was furthered when they came to the clearing and had their first view of the village; the houses were severely lacking in infrastructure, the wood splintered, rottened, and barely obscuring view to the inside of the house through the numerous holes. 

Above the remaining straw of the rooftops, an unspectacular citadel stood in weathered marble ruins. The main structure still held, but each block was crumbled and indented. 

No one chose to speak as the horses slowly trotted through the overgrown streets, carrying their own superstition that made their steps a bit jittery. Fences had vines intertwined at every surface; the doors of the huts creaked open and shut by the wind. 

Everything was pale and dull as the grey clouds linked arms to seal all sunshine out. 

"Well, its a bit creepy, I'll give you that," Arthur said while they continued towards the castle. 

"But I'm on this cursed earth and no ghosts have shown up, so I believe we're in the clear," he joked.

Elyan bit his lip and looked to the middle at Merlin, now truly considering that the tales were real after all. He was shocked to see how gloomy and gaunt Merlin was, being much healthier some hours before. He vowed that when everyone was resting in the castle, he would speak to Merlin alone about Adema's past. He was raised in his early childhood at Camelot, yes, but having left to travel at such a young age, he naturally had no clue about the history of Camelot or the source of the threatening energy. 

When they neared the end of the path, everyone found decaying posts to tie their horses, bequeathed with their supplies, so that they may continue the rest on foot. The castle was still a distance away, but they had a better view of what once had been mighty. 

Ivy clung to the base of the castle in all sorts of twisted patterns and the pointed peaks of the towers were smoothed down to nothing. 

As they edged closer, something caught Merlin's eye. In front of the staircased entrance, an object rested on what he guessed was a spike.

His heart rate sped up when everyone was close enough to see: the spike that rose from the ground bore a skull. It had been browned with age and picked clean by crows, but a great amount of silver hair was glued to its chin and head, making the sight even more disturbing. 

The ground around the spike had dead stalks of grass and before Merlin knew it, he'd spotted the skeletal remains covered by grass on the earth in front of the spike. 

Arthur walked faster ahead to inspect; the Ellish's stayed back and the knights crowded on either side to see for themselves the corpse.

The king bent down to examine the torn and frayed clothing that enclosed the frame of the skeleton and quickly rose with something in hand.

He studied it with care, rubbing off the rust of what he determined to be a pendant, which clued him in to the answer of this soldier's status. 

Not raising his voice or his head to acknowledge anyone, Arthur said, "This is the Pendragon seal."

Merlin had guessed beforehand, but now that it was confirmed, he did not feel any better.  
Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival all were confused and waited for someone to elaborate. When Leon saw that Arthur would not, he explained for them.

"These are the bones of Arthur's Great-Grandfather," he said softly.

A solemn silence ensued. Merlin watched his friends cast their heads downward in a show of respect, their sultry capes being whipped about by the wind. Arthur did not move. He created a fist that encased the charm.

"We need to bury him."

Merlin knew it was a dishonor to leave a corpse unburried and left to rot, and he felt sympathy for Arthur. But something wasn't right. 

Arthur approached the spike with the intention of removing the skull. Merlin sharply reacted.

"Arthur, I wouldn't-" he warned, but Arthur had already clasped it by the jaw.

As soon as his fingers touched the marrow, Merlin's heart stuttered. Rage engulfed him in his entirety, though he did not understand where the anger was coming from. 

"I have to bury him Merlin, I cannot leave his head on display to forever be mocked," Arthur stated, turning to face all of his company.

He stopped in shock as he witnessed Merlin fall to his knees, clutching his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have the next chapter written so depending on response I’ll post it soon uwu
> 
> Has anybody not realized yet what inspired this entire story..... key words ‘Nico’las and the ‘Nine’ knights.... (A)dema...... 
> 
> It has to do with an album recently released. I know at least one of you is a fan but I don’t want to give it away lol.


	6. And Then There Were Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION. If gore is a triggering topic for you, please do not continue reading this story.

The pain was fire, just like the burning anger and resentment he felt before Arthur had touched the skull of his forefather. It felt like a hot knife had been sheathed in his rib cage, leaving the heart to cook under the heat.

He'd collapsed, he realized, because now he was staring at the ground. Merlin hadn't felt anything other than the pain and his body's pathetic attempt to stablize him with endorphins that rushed through his brain. 

He felt hands on his shoulders then, and vague shouting masked entirely by the ringing in his ears. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the ringing to evaporate.

Slowly, his ears buzzed and regained normal hearing. When he opened his eyes, Gwaine was kneeling on the grass in front of him, using both hands to steady Merlin against face-planting into the ground.

"Merlin," he said, seeing that now the man was reacting to his surroundings. "Are you alright?!" 

"Yeah," Merlin gasped, noticing then that he'd been holding his breath. He swallowed bits of air before continuing. "I'm good now."

Merlin stood with Gwaine's help, though he managed still to stumble a little.

"We should get him inside the castle so he can rest, Sire," Leon suggested.

Arthur was stone-faced, staring at Merlin with apprehension. Odd as it was, it seemed that his servant had felt a reaction from his contact with his forefather's remains. But coincidence was a funny narrator, and Merlin suddenly collapsing was not out of the ordinary. He recalled Samhain and the embarrassment he had felt when Merlin took a fancy to fainting the second Arthur had finished a speech of granduer. 

"Gwaine, will you help him along," Arthur directed more than asked. Gwaine did so without responding, taking Merlin's right arm over his shoulder and mumbling words of encouragement with every step. 

The couple and the knights began to follow behind them, Percival keeping off to the opposite side of Merlin in case the man needed further support. 

Arthur allowed everyone in front of him before heading towards the castle; he walked backwards with an eye on the empty field and outlying village. He had a suspicion that something was out there in the open, but he could not see it with his own eyes. The stalks of grain bellowed under the turrents of wind and the houses held steadfast despite some creaking, creating nothing but a somber mood. It did not bear any animosity. 

With everyone through the heavy laden doors, Arthur jogged up the steps and past the entry, looking a last time at the trees and the mountains and then slamming the entrance shut.

Banners hung from the cathedral-ceiling, torn and massacred dragons of gold against paled red hues. The threads of the embroidery were loose and pathetic, much like the religious altar that drove all attention to the opposite end of the hall. Staircases wrapped the sides of the altar and met in tandem above it, then continued their separate ways to heightened hallways and open doors. 

On the altar was an epicly sized wooden cross with jeweled adornments; it was nailed on so that its back laid against the wall that filled the space between the staircases. Its height reached to above seven feet, and frayed purple cloth had been wrapped over its shoulders before it was hung there. A Bible laid peacefully underneath, so covered in cobwebs and dust that it could qualify as sacrilige.

Their footsteps bounced off the walls and created a cacophany in the stillness. Merlin breathed in the air and almost choked; it was musty and sour. He had a suspicion that other corpses would be found in the tunneled halls if they decided to go look for it. Blood stains in varying sizes took residence on some areas of the cold floor; they were brown and smeared by the shoes of the ghostly Ademians. 

They walked past a few lining pillars and stopped. Merlin felt Gwaine's muscles relax as he gradually released Merlin to the floor.

The world bounced into a different view when Merlin sat; he was disoriented and though his vision was well, his brain did not want to process anything in his line of sight. The pain in his chest had been subdued, but his head was too heavy to hold up.

Merlin placed his arms behind him and touched the flooring with feverish hands, bending his elbows to allow his arms to take his weight. He stretched his legs out in front of him, but they were uncomfortable, and he felt the need to shuffle them a bit to distract from it. 

“I'm going to go grab our packs, " said Leon. 

Merlin titled his head to view him instead of the soiled leather boots he was wearing. Leon grimaced in pity for Merlin when their eyes met, and Merlin looked away quickly. "Elyan, would you come help me?"

Merlin saw Elyan shift his weight and tense, but he didn't reply in time before Percival spoke. "I'll gather wood and start a fire near the entrance."

"Good," Arthur approved. "Gwaine, why don't you stay and keep an eye on him," he gestured towards Merlin. "I'll help Percival."

The three turned on their heels and walked towards the door, Mr. and Mrs. Ellish staying on the sidelines to make way for them. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?" Mr. Ellish called to them. 

"Nah," Arthur responded, opening the right door and letting the men filter out. "Make yourselves comfortable; its been a long journey for you both."

The couple smiled warmly and took hands; when Arthur closed the door behind him, Mr. Ellish helped Mary to sit and then joined her, using a pillar to lean his back on. 

They were a few feet away from Merlin. In his peripheral vision, he could tell Mary was staring at him worriedly. 

Gwaine bent down to his knees and crossed his arms atop them. His chain mail crunched with the movement. 

"What happened mate?" he asked. His eyes were soft and his face solemn.  
Merlin wasn't sure what to say. He had no idea what was happening to him.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I felt angry."

“Angry?" Gwaine arched a brow. "What for?"

"Arthur," Merlin said, a little more sure of himself. "But I had no reason to be angry; it came upon me all of a sudden, and then there was fire in my ribs."

Merlin had begun to perspire; he sensed little sprigs of his bangs sticking to his forehead. Gwaine noticed and sat fully to put a hand on his shoulder like he'd done a few days ago, this time applying pressure so that Merlin would lie flat on the floor. 

"You need to try to sleep. The pain will pass sooner."

Merlin allowed himself to seep into the fridged floor and felt Gwaine's hand cup the back of his head, then slip away. Every touch was like furry fabric, cushioning him and contributing some warmth, but not enough to combat the ice underneath him. He faced the ceiling now, seeing the windows at the very top sides. He wished golden sun would shine through it and bask him, but the openings presented a grey sky and nothing more. 

"Wait," Merlin said. "I need my supplies, my cooking supplies."

"Why? Surely cooking can wait for later," Gwaine inquired, looking dubious about Merlin's current sanity. 

Merlin asked himself if he really wanted to tell Gwaine or if a fib would be better for the both of them, but the black liquid filling his vision demanded an urgent answer. 

"I need salt," he said, working to keep his eyes open and focused on Gwaine. "I have to make a circle to protect our camp." Damn being judged, Merlin had to do this before he passed out. His friends needed protection when he couldn't protect them himself. 

To his credit, Gwaine bit back from teasing him. He didn't want Merlin to be anxious when debilitated; knowing his friend, if Gwaine didn't comply, Merlin would get up and hobble to the horses, grab the salt, and start making rings everwhere. 

"Don't worry," Gwaine said, then hesitated. "I'll... do it for you."

"Thank you," Merlin sighed, ending his straining.  

Within a few brief seconds, Gwaine witnessed Merlin's eyes roll to pure white. He sighed himself, wondering why he had offered to make a talisman to ward off ghosts that did not exist instead of keeping the precious seasoning for dinner later.

Still, when Leon and Elyan came back with numerous bags in hand and on shoulder, he scouted out the food supplies pack and found the small pouch of salt. When he thought no one was looking, Gwaine quickly sprinkled a circle of salt on the floor behind a pillar so it was hidden from the rest of the company. 

Elyan watched Gwaine disappear behind the pillar for a good fifteen seconds before the man reappeared, concealing something in his fist. As he continued unpacking with Leon, Gwaine escaped through the exit, mumbling something about 'taking a leak'. 

Elyan left Leon's side for a moment and handed the Ellish's bed rolls to them. Trying to be suave and unsuspecting, he made a rounded path around the left side of the room to go between Merlin and the altar and join  
Leon once more instead of walking directly back. Leon seemed too busy to notice.

Elyan peaked behind the pillar as if he was inspecting the infrastructure of the palace. He saw the ring of salt, and immediately looked at Merlin, who was unconscious some feet away. 

Realizing what Gwaine had been put up to, he huffed in silent amusement. Merlin was the only one who could convince Gwaine to do things that Gwaine would never do by his own volition, their bond was so strong.

He felt more relaxed himself now that there was a safety warding, but that didn't allay his fears. Something was happening already, and to Merlin. Elyan would have to wait until Merlin woke up to get the answers he sought.

 

There was screaming; that's what drew Merlin out of a deep sleep. It was quiet at first, and the words were inaudible, but as his mind came back to consciousness, the yelling was abrupt and harrowing in his ears. 

Merlin blinked his eyes open; his groggy brain determined that it was a single noise being repeated again and again, but it was not until the fog of sleep cleared that he could discern what was being said.

"John!" a woman wailed in the distance, over and over. 

Merlin shot up, noticing the blanket that had been laid on top of him as the weight fell to the floor. The sky was dark through the castle windows, but the stubs of candles were lit on the altar, all the cobwebs melting away. 

Everyone was spread across the room on their packs, many of them too deep in their exhausted sleep that they did not stir at the screaming. 

Merlin saw the empty bed rolls by one of the pillars; both Mary and Mr. Ellish weren't there. 

The woman screamed again, and Merlin surged towards Arthur, who was closest to the door. Had no one set up guard? Were they really that trusting and unassuming of the undead city?

Merlin fell to the ground and shook Arthur by the shoulders, his king's face quickly scrunching up in annoyance. 

"Wake up Arthur, now!"

"Leave me be Merlin," Arthur slurred, trying his best to turn to one side and shove his face ontop of the pillow. 

"God, you clot," Merlin said before giving Arthur a hard slap on the cheek.

The man's eyes shot open in a comical fury, and Arthur sat up, reaching for the collar of Merlin's shirt, which he yanked closer so Merlin's nose about bristled his. 

"What in the hell-" Arthur grunted at Merlin, but he was cut off by the same sound. 

"John!"

Arthur glanced at the door and then looked back at Merlin, whose breath grew quick and eyes widened in the suspense. He snapped into action having released Merlin, bolted to a stand  and sprinted towards the door, leaving Merlin scrambling to get to his feet in time. 

The door hit the walls of the caslte when Arthur shoved it open, and the bang alerted the knights, who woke and saw the king and his servant running towards the village and heard the screams as well. 

The air was chilled and heavy, crickets singing brightly to one another under a sky somewhat lightened by a half moon. Merlin flew past the dying embers of the fire at the bottom of the castle steps and between the houses in the village, barely managing not to trip on a rock that caught the tip of his boot. Arthur was faster, especially now that he'd removed his chainmail, and they made a direct path to the screams. 

The pair turned heel when they finally reached the source between a set of houses. 

Merlin froze like petrified wood. On the ground beside a fenced, overgrown piece of land, Mary kneeled over a slack form. Dark patches of blood were on the neighboring ground.  
Arthur rushed to Mary and sat to pull at her shoulders so that she would lift off and they could see the damage. 

There was Mr. Ellish- or John, Merlin hadn't even bothered to ask, he'd been so self-centric and unsociable on the trip here, which he regretted in full now- with his stomach bore to the earth. Instead of being concealed and protected by shirt and skin, the intestines were revealed and drained of blood supply, all of the organs sandwiched beside the spilling guts pale and lifeless too. His arms were at his sides, one hand resting on the skin above the grotesque incision as if in his final moments John attempted to literally hold himself together. His eyes were vacant and he stared into nothing, caring for nothing. He was not there anymore. 

Merlin suppressed the need to puke when bile splashed upwards in his esophagus. John had been murdered while he was unable to protect the kind old man. He hadn't even given a damn about him, being so concerned with the risk towards Arthur's and his friends' lives that he didn't focus on the risk to those in the company who he did not know and could not defend themselves. 

Mary was covered in her husband's blood from chest to stomach, and it was even more brutal against her white gown. There were bits of dried amounts in her greying hair and it tangled grossly in front of her tear-soaked face. She had no shoes, like Arthur, and Merlin could see from the side that her feet were cut, not having the same strong callouses that Arthur did when she ran about the village. 

There were scratches on her lower legs too, meaning she had probably ran through many different areas with bustling briars before she found John. 

She looked back at Arthur while she heaved for air, and grasped the hand on her left shoulder with her wrinkled own. 

"I woke up, and he wasn't there," she sobbed. "I went to find him and then..."  
   
Arthur's expression was beyond despair. His jaw was lax and the upper half of his face tensed; Merlin recognized the look as the same one from when he'd banished Gwen, the same look that greeted Merlin whenever he found Arthur drunk in his chambers. He knew Arthur felt at fault for this, it was written all over his face and body. But Arthur was wrong. This was on Merlin. 

Mary broke into harder sobs and grabbed Arthur into a tight-gripped hug, not caring anymore about the boundaries of nobility and peasantry. Arthur remained stunned, and stared at John as he placed a protective hand atop Mary's head and held tight to her back with the other. 

After a minute Arthur watched as the knights came running to the scene and halted. He looked to Merlin.

Merlin was in shock, not bothering to wipe the blood from his nose when it began to pour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know how brutal that was and I (don’t) apologize. 
> 
> Okay how the fuck has no one guessed what inspired this story skskksksksks 
> 
> I already said it has to do with an album, so I’ll give y’all another hint; in my other two Merlin stories, the names included two of this artist’s albums, one by accident and one on purpose. 
> 
> Also I was wondering, what age are you guys? When I was younger I used to think it was just younger people who wrote the fan fictions I read but obviously I know now that the passion for using already created and beloved characters to explore your writing abilities and personal feelings is completely useful at every age. But still four years later I still think of Collin Morgan as a huge ass hunk despite me being heavily dedicated to my boyfriend lmao. That hasn’t changed. 
> 
> I actually have a YouTube channel that is by the same name as my title on here; if any of you are musically inclined or would like to hear some of my songs/covers feel free to check it out.


	7. Depths and Barriers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEFINITELY read the end notes for an explanation of why I’ve been MIA!!! And shoutout to my old story Trench Fever; if you like this story but find a WW1 era immortal Merlin interesting (waaay more depressing than this, warning) go give it a read and hopefully some love if you like it. Theres also my just-as-dark Merlin fic Vessel that’s more popular and if you like the style of this story you’ll probably like that one too.

The body was buried that morning.

They did not have shovels, nor did they have any linen wrappings for the burials, but they made due with what was available.  
Mid-sized rocks were gathered until there were enough to cover John's body. His frail blanket was used to cover him, and they then began the process of building his grave of stone. 

Being the strongest man, Percival did much of the work. Everytime he set a rock on top of John, he could almost feel for himself the bruising on the man's fragile body. It gave way with every stone as they sunk to his bones.  
They hadn't moved him; if the knights had tried, it would have ended in a gross manner.  
He kept on task because John deserved a proper burial, but all Percival wanted to do was escape. Mary sat in the background with Merlin, him comforting her throughout the process. A streak of dried blood ran from his nose to his top lip, and his neckercheif was darkened from the outpour. He helped Mary twist twine and two ragged pieces of wood to form a make-shift cross, as her hands were shaking and unable to complete the task without aid. Her own face was streaked but with tears, and little red specks dotted her undereyes from such a long night of grief. 

It reminded Percival of times he would rather stow away in his memory, never to be found.  
He could see the grated body of his father, lying cold on the ground in their hovel, a pool of blood having spread more quickly than Percival thought a man could lose. Behind was his mother curled against the wall, still desperately holding onto his younger sister with protective arms. They too were no more, huddled up in a heap, stab wounds to his mother's chest and his sister's abdomen. She was only twelve years of age. 

But they were gone now and with every life that Percival saved, he instilled revenge on the mercenaries who took his family's lives. No effort of his would ever bring them back to the land of the living, but making them proud and making sure no other family would have to suffer as he suffered sufficed his need to be connected to them. 

So with every person he failed, he could not help hating himself, a little increment more each failure. 

Arthur took stones upon John's body in tandem with Percival; he was the ultimate guard for these people, and feeling that he was at fault for allowing this to happen, he took personal charge in paying his respects.  
Elyan and Leon stood afront everyone, keeping an eye out for what the company could only assume was a bandit that had murdered Mr. Ellish. Of course, Elyan was not inclined to agree with the others.

The way that Merlin had bled at the sight of the murder- that was no coincidence. Random ill health for Merlin was a rarity and, judging by how things had progressed thus far, whatever was happening was steadily getting worse.  
Elyan looked sideways at Leon; the man looked stoic but grim, eyes searching the vacant distance and lightening every time a new noise sounded or a stalk of grass moved in a suspicious way. The land was beautiful, Elyan mused, if not for the lonliness and fear that caressed it. Past the decaying houses, they had a perfect view of the mountains which dipped and rose harmonically. The trees there were green and lively, but a different variety must have been present in the parameters of the city, because all those in Adema had loose leaves that fell with every subtle blow of wind. Where flowers should be blooming amongst the hay stalks, there were dead bushes with bitter and soured berries that flies swarmed around. The city seemed dead of all things whether you looked to the broken pottery on the roads or out to nature. 

The others were behind them, protected from the back by a wall of one of the houses. Merlin and Mary rested their backs against it while Percival and Arthur formed the burial site. He and Leon were a bit spread out from each other, Leon closer to the opening of area by the haggard pig stall, and Elyan nearer to John's body. 

He did not care to look behind him; Elyan had never dealt well with death. Perhaps that was why he didn't come to Camelot for his father's ceremony, held humbly by Gwen and her friends in secret. 

He was young when he left his household, but as a child he did grow up playing with Leon whenever the eyes of Leon's prowling, supremist mother were averted. It wasn't right for children of a different status (or a different race for that matter) to socialize, at least according to the nobility. But his mother, a woman lowered in class by marrying a man of color, remained forgiving of the hatred that was thrown at her and her family. She loved Elyan's father with all of her heart and would not let the standards of a segregated Camelot cause her desparity in life. 

When she was accepted as a maid in Leon's household, the family knew that they would be able to survive in the kingdom. Mixed with his father's blacksmith skills, they had enough money to get by without him and Gwen being forced to work. Gwen did so anyways; she was proud to do a man's work as a blacksmith, breaking the rules for women in society just as her mother did. The local peasants adjusted to the odd scene of a small ten year old helping pour the lava of metal into a mold in the back of her father's shop. Along with that, she learned from her mother the trade of a maid: sewing, cooking, cleaning whilst remaining modest despite any maltreatment. 

And Elyan? Sure, he wanted to carry on with the business in his family, if only to further the legacy. But a part of him yearned for the same future that his best friend Leon had; the pair would carve wooden swords and galavant in the fields behind the castle, acting as knights who destroyed evil on adventures to treacherous lands. Leon said it was his birthright to become a knight of Camelot, just like his father, Sir. Beonard. But Leon did not understand the difference between the two of them; he saw Elyan as the same and treated him just, even though that did not allow the room for understanding how the boasts of his aspirations hurt Elyan. 

So when his mother passed away due to an enfluenza outbreak, Elyan deserted the city to find his own adventure. His father wanted him to work as a blacksmith and let Gwen take over as a young maid, but Elyan could not live doing the same as his family. He wanted something more, and he wanted to be recognized for his heart, not his skin color or his class. He decided to become a vigilante, traveling towards tasks and adventures to do the work he solely dreamed of doing as a knight of Camelot. 

They had been close. Elyan remembered the suple face of youth that Leon had and the spirit that was unchanging into adulthood. 

During his absence, Leon was beaten down by the obsessive rule of Uther, becoming a stickler for the rules of class in order to save his hide. No matter his longings, Leon was not able to breathe to his heart's desire, until Arthur became king. He was freer, still very loyal to whatever whim Arthur ordered, but there was a difference in the respect and the love he had for the job. 

And now, Elyan was banking on the friendship of times past to help Leon believe his case. Maybe Percival and Gwaine would listen, but the strongest bond he had in the company was with Leon,  his old friend. 

Doing his best to be discreet, Elyan shuffled closer to Leon's guard position. When the movement caught Leon's eye, Elyan motioned with a flick of a finger for the man to come beside him. 

Meeting in the middle so as to keep a well view of both sides, they spoke in quiet. 

“You've noticed something strange with Merlin, haven't you?" Elyan inquired, posing his back towards Leon more than his front. 

"Of course," Leon replied, "A blind man could."

"Yes," Elyan said, a little exasperation rising in his tone. "But the sickness; it's like none I've ever witnessed."

Leon mused for a moment, then conceeded. 

“So what are you saying?"

Elyan gripped the hilt of his sword tight with his right hand as if to steady himself for the spoken gravity of his next words.

“I don't think Merlin is fully... well, Merlin."

There was a pause where neither said anything, Elyan waiting for a response from the latter. A few seconds later, Elyan looked back at Leon and saw a bemused grin his face.

"Really, Elyan, why would you think that?" he whispered as he huffed a little laugh. Elyan felt his hopes sinking. 

"Think about it; the sickness grew worse as we neared Adema, and when Arthur touched that skull, he bloody passed out!"

"Sure," Leon said, "but why would that indicate that he's not all-Merlin?"

Elyan turned to face Leon, disrupting the discreptency of their talk. 

"Listen," Elyan breathed. "I know what it is like to have been possesed."

"Wait," Leon stilled. "You believe he's been possesed by Nicolas?"

"Yes, Nicolas whatever-the-name," Elyan determind. 

"Even if that's true, what can we do about it?" Leon asked. "When you were possesed, the only solution that cast out the ghost was Arthur's apology to the Druid. Arthur hasn't done anything wrong."

Elyan frowned, rotating to face the direction of his post once more. 

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But for now, we need to keep an eye on him. He needs us, Leon."

Leon glanced at the boy by the newly-made widow, looking so pale and fraught with anxieties. He was methodically tightening the twine to stabilize the crossed sections; when they were to his liking, he handed the cross over to Mary and put a shoulder around her when new tears filled her eyes.  
"I agree."

 

"Are there any parting words you'd like to speak," Arthur asked softly, standing across from Mary with the grave site in between. 

"No," she replied. "He already knows all I have to say."

The respectful march back to the horses, with their paraphernalia in hand, washed Merlin over with relief; soon the company would be out of this nightmare. Arthur had settled on the idea of traveling the half-week journey to Lothlorian to implore about the security agreement; it did not seem the kingdom was keeping its word. The king suspected that it was no ordinary bandit, but an assasin that had been sent, knowing the location of the trade city would be Adema. 

"Won't we be walking to a trap?" Merlin countered, heaving himself atop Freya with locked joints. 

"That's the fun part," Arthur responded dryly. 

"Do you know me at all, Merlin?"

"Sadly," Merlin said through muffled breath as he gripped the reins with one hand and gave Freya's corse black hair a stroke with the other. 

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Sire!"

 

A few miles brought them to the borderlands of Adema and Lothlorian's Western property; a track straight through the lining mountains would have them arrive at their most distant village. 

Things had been mostly silent between the company after they had been reduced to seven people; the trek to Lothlorian sent everyone into their mindspace, mulling over the image of the massacre over and over. 

The grass crunched beneath the hooves of the horses; Merlin was tasked with holding the reins of John's horse to direct both his and his own horse to the path. The horses lulled their heads up and down in pace with their steps, seeming mournful themselves. Merlin thought that perhaps they could sense the sorrow in the people they were supporting. 

The scene of the land had changed. The setting became gradually greener, more full of life in the nature. Now, two ridges of rock narrowed the direction of their riding, a natural guide to Lothlorian.

At normal times, Merlin would have marveled at the beautiful structure of the landscape. Instead, he felt claustrophobic and expected a rock fall to crush him and his friends at any odd moment. 

Soon the grass turned to muddy ground, and from muddy ground to rocks with small patches of a struggling stream flooding them. 

The carving of the land was done by this pathetic stream, once mighty and heavy in flow. The rock walls were dripping with water in efforts to create stalagtites. 

He wanted to just sleep. He felt so exhausted from the ordeal, the journey, the pain, the bleeding. Everything around him wanted to self-destruct: the city, the company, his body. 

Merlin tried not to focus too much on the source of all of this because he was scared to let himself wonder. No showings of Nicolas or the knights had arisin; so far, the biggest ghost was the ghostly exit by the assasin. And it was an assasin, no debate. Killing John was a warning to them, a cowardly one at that; the Lothlorian bandit chose the most vulnerable target out of all of them, cowering outside of the castle instead of charging in and attacking the strong. 

Merlin's eyes burned with anger, or possibly sleep-deprivation. He kept rubbing at them with his fingers, trying to scratch the itch and relieve himself. It persisted and he began to think that the pollen in the graduation from desert to vivacious land was the cause. 

His thoughts had not changed. Merlin knew in his gut that it was his fault for John's murder. If he hadn't succumbed to the pain and passed out that evening, he would have awakened to any noise made by a troubled man exiting the castle for some fresh air. 

Had John felt it, sensed it? There were no wounds indicating offense on his part, but then again, a man in his late sixties did not stand a chance. 

It was a strange age to even arrive at if one looked at the life expectancy in modern times. Sure, Gaius was an old man, but he was gifted with magic that gave him strength despite being so elderly. 

Merlin decided that it at least was lucky enough to have that long of a life before such a tragedy. 

He wished he could take out his frustrations on himself. It was no longer a startling thought after seeing that much blood and the smell of emptied bodliy fluids. The punishment inflicted on him wouldn't come close to what John endured, but Merlin wanted atonement. A small part of him wanted an output for his rage and the idea of self-destruction would suffice in his opinion. He'd hurt others without trying; Mary was a widow now who had since ceased her crying and adopted a face of total monotomy. She'd accepted it, and Merlin was angry that she had. Though she didn't know it, she should be raging at Merlin, striking him and blaming him for the death of her strongest friend in life. But she was just quiet. 

They road through the rocky hills had finally come to an end; the next steps would be through the middle of the mountains in dense forestry. 

Without warning, Arthur's steed neighed fiercely, rearing her head back at her load. The tunnel of vision would be revised if the creature would walk a few steps further, but when Arthur gave a gentle kick with the heel of his boots and strengthened his grip on the reins, the palimino began to buck. 

"'The hell is wrong with you!" Arthur shouted when the horse's hind heels kicked up. He managed to keep his hold, then jerked the reins back to keep the horse from bucking once more. The beast settled down and Arthur took the opportunity to slide off of its back before she rallied again. 

Thinking that the narrow exit was the cause of the horse's anxiety, Arthur began to lead it onward. Everyone readied themselves to file in line and follow suit, but Arthur stopped walking. 

"Sire?" Leon called, being the nearest to him. He leaned forward on his horse to see if there was some obstacle between Arthur and the opening, but nothing was there. 

They watched as Arthur raised a hand and pressed at the air; sparks of gold blew tendrils from the point of contact, and Arthur snapped his hand backward as if burned. 

"Its a barrier of magic," Merlin spoke, more to himself in awe and disbelief than to the rest of them.

"Yes, I feel that's quite obvious," Arthur said, turning to face the company. "Perhaps there is more to this assasin than we thought."

Merlin swallowed. All of his denial of a magical entity being the one to attack their group drained away to expose a morbid truth. Something was hunting them down, and it wasn't human, like the rest of them thought. Nothing but a creature of strong, dark magic could manage a barrier over the entire perimeter of Adema, but not a mere ghost either. They were dealing with the combined power of several phantoms, and he didn't believe they stood a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. I took medical leave from college so I would stop carving myself up like a turkey. Then after a total mental breakdown from the both of us and a lot of strain, my boyfriend and I had a serious talk about what we truly wanted in life. And we got engaged! It was on November 10th. We’re still very young, but he’s going into the Air Force so if we want to live together we have to marry. We’ve known we would since month three. If anyone wants to know how the proposing went down, comment and I’ll reply with the story :,) Now he’s in basic at Texas (the only BT base for the AF) and we had a facetime Christmas Eve, but that was the first contact in a month! Its very hard having been through an emotional rollercoaster. Now I’m trying to switch to online college and hopefully start a job. I’ve constantly been wanting to continue the story but I spent all of November focusing on our relationship because we both were in a bad place. I have the next chapter written and my want to write is on fire! Hopefully it persists. I hope y’all like the background on Elyan and Leon. I’m staying true to the “let’s focus on characters other than Merlin” idea. Also, anyone ever seen that youtube video of Rupert Young (the actor playing Leon) demands he’s the star of the series? Random, I know, but that’s hilarious and I rewatched it recently so if any of you haven’t seen the video its good for a laugh. P.S. - my instagram is kay_elizbaethann if you would like to see engagement photos!


	8. Three Cheers for Five Years

"Oh hell no," Gwaine said, shaking Merlin out of his reverie.

Everybody watched as Gwaine jumped off of his horse and stalked up to the transparent barrier beside Arthur. With gusto, Gwaine huffed and squared up as if ready to knock down the entire barrier like it was a wooden door. Before Arthur could stop him, he'd rammed his shoulder into it. Sparks flew wild and he growled a bit as he was shocked back to the side. The cape on his shoulder was singed and smoking. 

"Jesus Gwaine!" Arthur reprimanded him. He sped over to the smoking knight and batted the cape with his own, pulled from behind his hip and drug upward to reach Gwaine's tall shoulders. 

For the first time in a week, Merlin felt himself laugh. Gwaine's brawn definitely trumped his brain.

Gwaine was blowing at the chain mail to cool the metal off when he heard Merlin; instead of scowling, he smiled. 

"I've been trying to cheer you up since the day we departed," Gwaine said with a grin, pointing a joking finger at his friend. "If me getting cooked like a royal Christmas turkey is what it takes, then so be it."

Merlin was a bit embarrassed now, but continued to chuckled all the same. Elyan, Percival and Leon relaxed from the tense situation and Mary brought her horse closer to Merlin. 

She got beside him and grasped his forearm to bring his attention to her. 

"Its good to see a smile on your face, dear," she said quietly. All of a sudden, Merlin didn't feel the guilt he had mere minutes ago. After what Mary had just gone through, she was comforted to see Merlin's lightened mood and it could even bring a smile onto her face. 

Merlin decided to push aside the dark thoughts he was having to instead focus on a solution to their problems. The only way out would be with his head, and therefore his magic. If this woman could persevere despite her husband being brutally murdered then he could at least fight off whatever depressive spell he was taken with. 

“Alright," Arthur called over the laughter. "We should return to the castle to regroup and create a united front. Whoever this assassin is, I'm betting that we won't have to wait for him to come at us. We need to be prepared before that happens."

"Yes, Sire," sang a symphony of knights and a quiet, "Yes, Princess," came from Gwaine.

Soon Gwaine and Arthur remounted and everyone backtracked on the path to the castle.

Arthur was glad that he was in the front. He was feeling nervous but would be damned if he allowed it to show, or any other feelings for that matter. A man just died on his watch. 

Would there be a next? If so, who would it be? His knights were valiant, but their usual professor on magic was Gaius, so they had no way of knowing exactly what to do in this situation. 

He thought back to the ghost possession of Elyan and smartly came to the conclusion that this time the stakes were different. The barriers he had come in contact with were few and far between, but there was an instance of one in his fights with Morgana. Arthur wasn't sure what other witches were like, but Morgana was able to make a barrier in a small area, and Arthur was sure that if they walked around the outskirts of Adema, there would be a trail of the blockade at any point of exit. 

Finding out would be a waste of time; they were better off fighting the source than seeking out the loophole.

How they were to destroy the magician-assassin was a mystery bigger than any other.   
At this point, Arthur prayed against all reason to his God that sheer willpower would pull them through safely. If he was honest, he didn't have much willpower left in him. It was pathetic really and what felt like a crime against his people. Arthur was raised to be unwavering and truly believe himself so, but he felt small. His father drilled him on putting his people before his feelings, then the love of his life had made his undoing. He wished that he had listened to Uther and just married Mithian; she was beautiful, smart, a talented huntress. And yet, his heart still believed in love, still believed that he'd made the correct choice, even if the love was lost. 

Oh, the way he felt when he'd seen Gwen- damn even the name of her- lip-locked with the supposed most noble knight of Camelot. Shock was what came first. Though he knew what he saw, he couldn't allow himself to believe it. That wasn't his fiancee, the person he trusted his soul with, slutting herself to a dead man.

But it had to be so. And his legs moved; what seemed like edging closer to him was really a running jump, and his hands were quickly upon her, thrashing her away before she could do more damage. Arthur wanted to protect her from this man, this fiend- perhaps she was coerced!- but admitted internally that the fault did not lie on Lancelot as much as it did on her. And she was so beautiful, when he looked in her eyes then. They were watery and wide, but he imagined them creasing seconds later as she smiled, telling him that it was a trick of some sort, that he was in a nightmare. And it never happened. She kept staring, utterly confused and shocked by what she'd done. The confirmation of that finality made it all too real and Arthur wanted to get away from this person. He didn't know her anymore. 

He realized that he'd thrust her to the stone floor when she was suddenly out of his view. Even then, he could barely see her because of his tears. Arthur blinked and swiped his eyes with his sleeve, feeling a bit dizzy when he looked down upon her. She was nothing to him now because she couldn't be. Arthur didn't allow himself to feel otherwise, or else he wouldn't have been able to speak. 

The strain on his throat made his voice crack when he yelled at her. He did not remember half of what he'd said, only the outcome. Guards swarmed upon the woman and dragged her out of the common area. And as the blood in his ears relaxed its rushing, he could hear her weeping all the way down the halls. 

But the worst part came after, at the beginning of when Arthur relearned living without her. He entered an empty room that night with flowers and a tailored outfit laid on the table. Her dress was there too; it was the finest material in England, produced by a Middle-Eastern traveler who brought the new, expensive silk-fabric to their country. Jewels formed in caves were hacked down and carved by delicate fingers into perfection. But the sewing, that was all done by Gwen herself, being a master seamstress. She slaved over that dress to make every detail perfect. She said it was the most important day of her life and she wanted her efforts to portray that.

So when he saw it, the first remarkable sight as he entered his bedroom, he went straight for it. Arthur wanted to burn it in a fire, but in his impatience he found himself ripping the seems apart. The stones fell to the floor and the purple fabric soon became bleak strands. 

After that was the table; Arthur flipped it in one solid motion, the chairs being knocked onto the floor along with it. He grabbed pots, the stoker, anything that would make a grand noise or brake when he cast it against something. All of the kingly decor was rubble by the time he'd finished and Arthur felt no better for it. 

He collapsed on his bed, sitting on Gwen's prior side. He could smell lavender perfumes on her pillow and the covers.

Arthur wanted her to be sitting beside him, holding onto him, mourning together what tragedy had struck, but there was nothing to hold except himself. His raw fingers rubbed either side of his face angrily then rose to pull at his short blonde hair. He gripped it with a vice and sobbed against all efforts. 

He didn't notice the creaking of the doors or the small "sire" uttered. His eyes were closed taught. Arthur didn't want to face reality anymore. 

From the entrance Merlin stood crying as well. The rims of his eyes and his nose were bright pink, but the tears were slow and steady. His suede sleeve was soiled with snot and his shoulders were still. He felt so drained; the one good thing that was supposed to happen in the midst of his shitty life as a servant to the Old Religion was the moment of his two oldest friends finding eternal happiness in one another. Knowing that Lancelot wasn't the true reincarnate was a cruel secret. Merlin had mourned and done his best to move past Lancelot's absence to be reminded again of everything he'd lost that night. But now, this night, he'd lost another friend, once again by their own volition, but this time not in sacrifice for Arthur's and the kingdom's future. 

Merlin felt incredibly betrayed as well, but it wasn't his place to find solace in Arthur. Either way, he couldn't bring himself to walk back to his chambers, to face Gaius. He definitely did not want to see Elyan in the halls and see the utter sorrow on his face. Merlin didn't know how to comfort himself let alone Elyan or Arthur. 

Instead of leaving, Merlin sat outside of the chamber doors underneath of the torches, which hung at either side. As the pace of his crying slowed and his eyes dried, pieces of soot would fall on his face, his nose, his shoulder. He didn't bother wiping it off, or moving at all, only staring at the opposite wall with his kneels curled up to his chest and the marble syphoning warmth from his palms. 

Sheer exhaustion brought him to sleep in the midst of Arthur's quieted weeping, and eventually Arthur was asleep too, slumped to his side on Gwen's pillows, smelling of her hair.

 

Merlin did his best to remain calm as they headed back to the fort. He thought back to Gaius' instructions of how to defeat ghosts, but he wasn't sure that either of them had enough knowledge over beings this powerful. 

He was the greatest sorcerer of all, but that didn't mean that he knew the extent of his abilities or how to use all of them. For a moment he considered calling Kilgharrah, but found the idea silly when he remembered the barrier. If they couldn't break through, then there was a good chance the dragon wouldn't either. If he had tried despite it, there was no telling what would've happen between Kilgharrah and the knights. They wouldn't be able to defeat him, but the man hunt for the dragon that massacred Camelot would be resurrected. Merlin didn't want to put his friend in that position, or himself for that matter. He needed the dragon's aid and if Merlin put him in the line of danger, there was a good chance that Kilgharrah would refuse. He abused his power as a dragonlord when he was young and desperate; Merlin didn't want to make the same mistake again. 

The salt ring must have failed because John left the camp, but what caused John to retreat from the castle? He should have known the danger and Merlin believed him smarter than that. Though there was no way to confirm it, Merlin felt that something had coerced John to leave the safety of the castle, or perhaps tricked him into it. 

Excaliber was safe in the sheath on Arthur's hip, but with no upfront contact with the ghosts, they hadn't had opportunity to strike. Merlin longed for a weapon of that measure to have in his possesion; having double the armory, especially in his hands as well as Arthur's, would cover more range. Another benefit would be that Merlin would not have to constantly manipulate Arthur into finding the correct answers.

Merlin didn't try to use his magic to storm the blockade because he simply wasn't sure what to do and try without revealing himself. There was the possibility of sneaking out to a different and closer part of the city limits when everyone was asleep (if he could get past whoever would be on guard) but Merlin thought it best to stay with the group. He was the best source of protection they owned. 

Shield magic was not his strength; his abilities sprang from the natural forces of push and pull, causes that produced his desired effect. In his early days he harnessed the power of life, the lightning in the sky. But since then, he was bent to the use of subtle magic. Merlin knew that he had it in him to protect and destroy, but it came to light only in his most desperate need. Gaius taught him how to hide his magic from civilization, to save without being seen. Knowing he could cast lightning down to the earth and harness the powers that feeble and ignorant men believed to be held solely by the Christian god was impossible to bare. He didn't dwell on that part; it was unnerving to think that, according to normal people,  he was a godlike creature. That didn't sound like him at all. 

All that potential energy sat waiting for nothing, useless in his wake. But he didn't pity himself in this moment, resting atop of Frey, ironically in the fray along with his friends. 

Merlin constantly reminded himself of his resolution to keeps his feelings from overtaking him.

A few unremarkable hours passed when everyone came to the familiar paths and village houses leading up to the fortress' ruins.   
The mood was heavier than it had been after Gwaine's failed attempt to break through the barrier; stomachs began to rumble and Merlin took that as a queue to cook dinner when they were settled inside. 

Dismounting and tethering the horses to posts nearer to the castle, Merlin was thankful for the iron smell in his nose, an affect from the bleeding that morning; it didn't fully mask it, but it dampened the odor of decay. He became queasy when picturing the source. 

The eight horses were fed oats and they licked at the muddy water beneath them. The knights speedily unpacked; the key was to get in position and form their front. It was up to   
Merlin to make dinner to provide the energy for staying awake as guard and fighting off whatever eventually came.

Merlin was heading to the campfire to relight it, the food supplies in a sack over his shoulder, when Elyan swerved in front of him, nearly causing him to bump into the knight. 

"Ah, Elyan," he exclaimed. He put a hand over his chest and heaved a breath. "You startled me."

Elyan stood there without responding. His eyes were unfocused, darting about. Merlin saw him take a glance behind him to the others; Mary was inside and secure. Arthur was discussing tactics with Leon on the castle steps and Percival and Gwaine were higher on the steps near the door, keeping a lookout. 

Merlin peered along with him, trying to gauge what was the matter. He watched as Leon shared the glance with Elyan and then resumed his conversation with the king. 

"Is there something I don't know about?" Merlin asked. Elyan faced him again, this time with his brow furled. 

"How are you..." he paused, unsure how to phrase his question. "How do you feel?"

Merlin was perplexed at his concern, but then again, Elyan was one of the few people who always treated him with kindness despite his class. 

"Well, a bit sickly, but other than that I'm just fine. Don't worry about me," he said, hoping to allay Elyan's focus and redirect it to their more pressing concerns. 

"But, your eyes," Elyan persisted, "they're bloodshot. You've been fainting, bleeding..."

As Elyan trailed off, Merlin took it upon himself to wonder; he had been avoiding the troublesome implications of his illness mostly because he didn't have knowledge of the cause. And with Elyan questioning him now, something rose in his chest, in his lungs, like the day before with the the bones of Uthlon. Merlin was angry for being interrogated. A part of him did not want to discover the problem or address his swift change of mood. 

"Leave it Elyan," Merlin said, brushing him aside and stomping towards the wood logs. He felt utterly harrased and did not challenge the occurance of those feelings. 

That grew when Elyan grabbed him by a shoulder and slung him around, then gripped the other, his hand resting on top of the ruck sack of food in tandem to hold the servant in place. 

"Please listen to me," Elyan begged. His chainmail chafed under his arms as Merlin struggled beneath him. "I don't believe you're safe."

"I told you I'm fine!" Merlin retorted, a little bit louder than he meant to. Gwaine and Percival had their eyes on them now instead of the woods ahead and Leon and Arthur stopped their talking.

Elyan was at a crossroads, having Leon as the one person who understood what was happening then. The rest probably thought that they were having a quarrel in which Elyan was the perpetrator. 

He reluctantly released Merlin, and the servant took a step back. He glared at Elyan and just as he turned from the knight to resume his business, Elyan saw a flash of red in his irises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever been cheated on by someone you’re in love with? Because hoooooo boy the feeling of wanting them there beside you to comfort you while you feel the pain of being betrayed is REAL. It’s worst when you love them and they love you, when they know they were wrong, when you can’t hate them and break up with them. And me getting over that feeling is taking a while so I wanted to write that in because I needed to channel that. BUT HEY ITS NEW YEARS EVE! I’m hoping that some of my old readers will eventually see I’m updating again because I miss talking to you guys lol. I’m going to start posting this on FF.net as well but on there I’m going to challenge myself to beta all of my chapters so that’s a good thing for yall because when I edit everything for that website it’ll be fixed on here too. I just want to put it out there as well because I’m extremely happy with this story so far and want to continue sharing it to people. This is officially the longest fic I’ve ever written so!!!! What do you guys think is going to happen? Any theories? I’m so excited to post every chapter.


	9. Blurred Faces

How utterly invasive, Merlin thought to himself, while he closed the distance to the campfire. Why was Elyan so pressed about his demeanor?

His fuming flushed his cheeks bright pink. He cast a calloused glance at the spike that yesterday had bore Uthlon's remains- he hadn't really given it too much thought until now- and was relieved to see that the bones had been moved, probably while he was passed out on the palace floor. At least that favor was done for him. 

Though the sight was a mockery of the ancient Pendragon's tyranny, Merlin didn't care to set his eyes on the man who started the line of hatred which controlled him and those he loved in modern times. 

Merlin didn't acknowledge the eyes that followed him when he sat at the foot of the logs. He laid the sack on the ground to his right and crossed his legs into a comfortable position before dishing out the items. 

He firstly placed the iron pot on the wood, doing his best to balance it. He wondered if the knights had actually cooked last night, or if they had instead snacked on the vegetable supply, because it seemed they were nearer to the finish on that. The knights would have to go hunting sometime in the evening so that none of them starved before they escaped the god-forsaken town. Maybe their stomachs could handle a bit of fasting, but Mary's couldn't.

The water skins were full thanks to the streams near the edge of Lothloria where they earlier tried to cross; the streams led them to a deeper one with fresh, running water. The individual water skins were with their owners, but Merlin had an extra three on hold to make soups on journeys such as this. He mused that maybe he should find something other than stew or vegetable soup to cook for the knights, but they made no complaint thus far. Merlin was their on-the-go cook, physician, and magical guardian, but he settled with appreciation for two out of three.

He poured two water skins worth into the pot and set vegetables on a weaved mat beside him, then made gentle work of rummaging for the knife; despite it being wrapped in a protective cloth, it was constantly sharpened by a wet stone and therefore very, very pointy. 

Finding it, Merlin took it out and opened the folds of the cloth without paying much thought to it until he felt a residue on his thumb.   
And when the knife was uncovered, he saw it splattered from the hilt to the point with blood.   
Merlin dropped the knife in horror; the last time he'd used it, it had been wiped down after dismembering rabbits. But now, here it was, with no explanation other than-

Oh, god.

He saw it then, in whispers from a night he didn't remember because he was supposed to be innocently recovering. Merlin's vision was filled with a flash of movement, the gleam from a brandished knife, and John, cowering where he stood. 

The begging, the pleading- John didn't want to leave his wife alone in the world. He was her protector and all that the woman had, no children, no other family. It was his duty, he had said. And when Merlin's resolve showed no sign of change, John instead begged for him to take his life if it meant he'd spare Mary.   
Merlin's head tilted, eying the pathetic, babbling man. Everything he saw was covered in a film of red tint; he wanted the red to be more pronounced. 

This man had trespassed into his territory- many men before him had come in peace, and Merlin had let them live out their lives without trouble because they were different. They had not sided with a Pendragon child, whereas this one...

Without further thought, he slashed the knife at the man's stomach and watched, emotionless, as blood dripped past his torso, as he collapsed to the ground.   
It was a pity, really. There was no malice in this man's heart, no wrong-doings that riddled him with guilt. But it was necessary. Anyone in allegiance with a Pendragon had committed a crime against Merlin's people. 

Merlin waited until consciousness vanished from John, til his eyes were grey, to return to the once mighty palace, the heart of Adema. 

 

And just like that, Merlin found himself near the campfire preparing soup once again. He stared unseeing; his heart was racing faster than he'd ever experienced. He'd done it? He'd killed John?

But that wasn't his own voice in his head that night- it was deeper, ethereal and menacing. Maybe he was seeing the events through the mind of the perpetrator like the visions that flashed about him in the Crystal Cave. But there were no crystals, no enemies. No one had shown themselves; if an attack was imminent, then why did the assassin choose to pick off a segment of the company instead of commencing battle? 

That was, unless the attacker didn't have full access yet. Full access to Merlin. 

He remembered the feeling of Cornelias Sigan's spirit attempting to infiltrate him, to block out the magic deep within Merlin's blood and tame it for his own necrotic wishes. Merlin's will was enough in that moment to incinerate the spirit and banish it from his heart, but now? He was physically weakened by illness and mentally betrayed by depression. It made sense that a spirit could manage to undertake Merlin in his lethargic state, when his will was full of anger that felt misplaced.   
Merlin didn't want to believe it, but nothing else made sense of what he had just witnessed. 

He picked up the knife and cradled it with the other hand as if studying the coagulated mess of blood would give him the answers he sought. And he knew there was no denying.

The king and sorcerer, Nicolas of Adema, was possessing the warlock. 

What was Merlin to do?

All of his friends were in danger; Gaius had never given him advice on possession when it came to expelling a ghost from his own body! It was the worst case scenario for Nicolas to have chosen Merlin, but being a sorcerer he must have noticed and felt the power emanating from Merlin's very soul. That meant Merlin was being used as a harness for Nicolas' magic, a projector for a ghost of the rift to take hold in the land of the living. 

If Merlin could banish Nicolas from him, then the strength of the king's magic should be subdued; he could cast an enchantment on the rest of the company to shield them from becoming a vessel for the wandering, vengeful spirit. 

That would take care of them, but how to remove Nicolas... 

It wasn't a good thought. 

It wasn't a thought he wanted to entertain.

But what if there was no way to expel the ghost? What if it was latched so tightly to Merlin, his magic and the ancient king's intertwined to the point of no separation. It was too late for Merlin. He had no spell to fix this, to save himself. 

He needed to destroy the vessel. It was the only non-magical solution to force Nicolas from his body. 

Tears were in his eyes. Merlin felt the world more sharply; all the time that people took for granted was sorely missed when it was their final moments. He felt the grass and supple ground supporting him, the slight blow of wind that ruffled his bloodied neckerchief, the tightness in his forehead. The knife was absolutely putrid; Merlin wanted to throw it into a fire and watch it melt as a sign to Nicolas. His hands shook like browned leaves falling off an autumn tree and when he looked at them, all he could see was the final cut that ended the life of John Ellish.

This was supposed to be the first step towards salvation! A city chosen for the purpose of uniting kingdoms among England as the prophecies foretold Arthur would accomplish. It was the beginning, not the end. Merlin wasn't ready to leave Arthur alone, wasn't sure if Arthur would survive long enough to make that dream a reality. But if it was happening and it was out of his control, then it must have meant that it was Merlin's time to die. 

He knew what he had to do, but Merlin couldn't stand up, he was so petrified. He promised Gaius he would come back in one piece, and here he was infringing on that statement. Merlin didn't know how long Gaius would live after his nephew's death; he often told Merlin that his worry for the boy was what kept him stubbornly kicking. 

And his mother- Merlin hadn't seen Hunith for a little over a year. He couldn't remember what he'd last told her, what promises he made that would be unfulfilled on this day. 

Arthur had lost Guinevere, and he was going to lose Merlin. The two people closest to him would vanish as if the years of friendship and love in the making never existed. 

The king would recover despite it. He had to, for Merlin, for the sake of the future. 

Merlin tightened his grip around the hilt and took a deep breath. If he could just stand up, walk away, then he could get this done. It was for Albion, and he'd risked his life more than he could count. But Merlin didn't expect that suicide would birth the breaking of shackles for sorcerers and humans alike. 

 

"Merlin-"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I broke this chapter into two parts because it turned into 2,500 words and for author purposes I thought it better to give it a few days before I post the second part. I'm tempted to name it No Homo, if that tells you anything.   
> I've spent so many months on this its starting to feel like a life's work lol. I've edited the first two chapters so far but I'm pretty sure 7 is in need of the most editing (I might have totally forgotten Gwaine during a scene... oops) so I'm working on editing but not focusing as much on that as continuing the story without too much delay.   
> Let me know what you think of Merlin's predicament or your speculations on the "no homo" future title lmao. This isn't per say a Merthur story, but it can go either way, a lot like the regular series. Especially while Gwen isn't there.   
> I've been almost two months without my fiance now :((( He says that all the other boys in his flight are getting dumped! Says a lot about modern relationships.


	10. Absolutely No Homosexuality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoever spots the A Christmas Carol movie quote gets nothing really but my appreciation lol. I kept thinking about the quote when I was writing and I was hearing it in Scrouge’s voice but I didn’t place it until two days ago long after I’d written this lol.

“Merlin-"

His eyes shot up to see Arthur crouching on the other side of the logs. Before any tears fell, Merlin slipped the knife inside his boot and rubbed his eyes with both hands, pretending to suffer from exhaustion. 

Arthur frowned when he sat, so Merlin morphed his features into a care-free grin. 

"Yes, Arthur?" Merlin asked. He was coming off as impatient and exasperated, like Arthur was interrupting him, but Merlin wanted nothing more than Arthur to stay by his side. 

Arthur adjusted himself comfortably. 

"I saw you and Elyan," he said. "Is something the matter?"

Merlin really, truly smiled this time. All the anger he had felt at Arthur during this journey was not of his own making, but the resentment bleeding through from a ghost with misplaced anger. And here Arthur was, just as he had been in the forest, checking on Merlin's well-being. 

"No," Merlin assured him. "It was just a minor disagreement. I probably should apologize; my attitude has been poor lately."

"I'll say," Arthur joked, but he said it with a warm laugh, his worry melting away. Merlin cherished the sight, wished he could commit it to a memory that would live longer than the next few hours at best. 

"If that's all?" Merlin asked. His body tensed as he asked; he mentally begged Arthur to be firm, to come sit with him while he cooked their dinner. He wanted Arthur to protect him for once. Merlin was so afraid and powerless beyond his imagining. 

"No, actually," Arthur said. He scooted closer to the log pile, hoping to keep the conversation secluded. Merlin breathed relief.

"I know that I already apologized for the other night," Arthur began, "but I wanted to also tell you that in the same way you are here for me, I am here for you."

Merlin felt his resolve weakening. Tears were filling his eyes again, and this time, Arthur noticed. 

"Oh, do not get all sentimental," Arthur said. 

He wasn't as uncomfortable as the other night, so Merlin decided Arthur was bantering for his sake. Arthur probably had seen all these signs: the sickness, the anxiety, the sadness. Merlin wondered just how obviously tired and mournful he appeared.

"I've made your life hard, and you may complain about the lesser things, but you have never for a moment deserted me when it was convenient for you. I've relied on you heavily since my father and, um, Gwen."

Merlin's lips parted in awe. It was the first time Arthur had spoken her name since that night. A few tears slid down his face too, but he didn't pay attention.

"I want to make up for that," Arthur offered.  
"Tell me how I can, please."

Merlin let out a breath, so full of joy that he could almost forget these were his final moments. And when he did remember, he pulled himself together. His life was almost no more, but Arthur's had just begun. 

"What I want," Merlin chuckled. "All I've ever wanted is for you to become the man I've always known you could be."

Merlin said this with such passion that Arthur acted a little taken aback, his arms folding in defense. 

"You don't, uh... is there... something you haven't voiced," Arthur asked with a positively comical look. "Something like... a feeling?"

Merlin paused for a second before he realized. 

"Oh! No, god no-"

He could feel himself turning red, and he waved his hand about to make up for the denial he could no longer voice. 

Arthur looked practically indignant. 

"Well, you don't have to look so repulsed!" he said, then remembered himself and cleared his throat.

 "But, uh, good. Good!" He nodded and looked away. "Because that would be very inappropriate."

"I totally agree!" Merlin said. When they had ended their moment of looking anywhere but each other, Merlin scratched his head and made an effort to continue his point. 

"You are a great king," he said, doing his best to not choke up, "and you must follow your  heart. Uniting Albion will be a lost dream if you do not listen. To others, and to yourself."

"I get it, I need to take pointers and be in touch with my 'inner-wisdom,'" Arthur remarked. 

"No," Merlin sighed, then reformed. "I mean, yes, but what I'm trying to say is stop living your father's life."

Arthur looked quizzical. "I've made changes from his rule, Merlin; I've abolished the discriminations from which our people suffered."

"You have some," Merlin agreed, "but there are others who need your trust. There are people who you have yet to see in the correct lighting. You are a good man, but this crowd is awakening. They will not wait for you to change your mind before they fight for their suffering."

If Arthur was puzzled before, he was absolutely dumbfounded now. 

"What are you talking about? What people?"

Merlin shook his head. "You know Arthur; in your heart, you've always known."

Arthur went silent. 

Merlin couldn't bring himself to tell Arthur the truth. He knew he was about to die, but it didn't feel right to reveal his magic. Merlin took that as a sign, that it had to be through self-journey that Arthur discovered his meaning; it was at least what he told himself. 

Really, it was Merlin being selfish. He wanted his last moments with Arthur to be happy, and who could blame him for that.

"But there's another favor," he said, this time a bit cautious. 

"Hang on now, how many of these are there going to be?" Arthur inquired. He was a bit flustered trying to grasp the meaning of the first task, forget introducing a second. 

"This is the last one."

Merlin felt sick; he didn't want this conversation to end. But all good things must.

"Go after her," he said, and Arthur froze in his pondering. 

"Our lives are fleeting on this earth; the two of you had something that withstands the tests of time. Don't spend the rest of your life in regret."

It was Arthur's turn to tear up. 

"But how do I forgive her?" he asked quietly. 

"I don't know," Merlin admitted. "But like I said: listen to your heart."

They shared a moment of mutual respect, basking in the familiar warmth and friendship they'd always known, that had always pulled each other out of the fray. 

Arthur stood and came around to Merlin, offering his hand. Merlin took it by the gauntlet in the traditional fashion, using Arthur's arm to help him stand. Then they embraced; Merlin found it bitterly ironic that every hug of theirs happened when one of them was in mortal peril. 

Merlin held tightly to him and held together his eyes; he smelled the sun-kissed hair and felt the chill of Arthur's chainmail against his chest. 

"I'm going to miss you," he whispered. 

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked. Merlin could hear the bit of panic in Arthur’s voice. 

He opened eyes then and saw the village before him. He knew Percival and Gwaine stood vigilantly at the stairway, probably doing their best to pretend they weren't spying on Merlin and Arthur's inconspicuous display of bromance. 

With a flash of gold, Merlin created a shadow in the distance that bristled a set of bushes and ran into a home, slamming the door shut behind it. 

"Arthur! Over there!" Percival shouted. Arthur broke off the hug and swung around to see Gwaine and Percival with brandished swords and a shadow of a man escaping through the back door of the house. 

"Get inside the castle," Arthur ordered Merlin. 

"Elyan! Leon!"

Arthur didn't wait for Merlin to run inside or for the other knights to return from their perimeter guarding before he took off with Gwaine and Percival in the direction of the 'assassin'. 

Of course it was Elyan who returned from the side of the castle Merlin was at; their eyes locked before the knight joined Leon at the front and pushed ahead. 

Merlin watched them, his mind doing its best to process what needed to be done. 

With a few more sparks of his magic to provoke the wild goose chase and a muttered enchantment of protection, Merlin turned and sped straight in the opposite direction, to the forest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it’s about 3/4 of the way there! I know that when I look for stories to read, I only pick them if they’re under 30,000 words because half the time the writing just declines and it takes a lot of patience to read a story that long for me lol so idk how y’all are so patient to read this if any of you have just now started. I see my fiancé in seven days! After that I feel like I’ll be writing a lot more again. I really am excited for the next chapter tho so I might try to churn that out today. My poor followers on fan fiction.net have been waiting an eon for me to post the edited fourth chapter 😭 I’m a moster. My interpretation of Merthur is that it’s really something special because it’s not a sexual relationship. I think that it’s a rarity that shows produce friends who are so close to each other that even their wives or lovers aren’t the closest person to them. So I like to believe it’s that, because that’s even more special than sexual love. That’s love at its purest, undying and loyal to a fault. That’s why I don’t technically ship Merthur, not because I’m a against it, but because the writers created that bond and it was something really special to me. It’s like when soldiers in war are fighting; the people in their group become their brothers when faced with life and death; if they survive, the men/women are closer to each other than their own spouses half the time because there is nothing more close about being utterly humbled by humanity and our mortality and facing it against all odds. Just some food for thought! But if Tristin doesn’t stay closest to me that bitch better rethink it lmao. Kinda joking, kinda not. We’ve been through a lot, a lot of medical issues with him and my mental illness. Sometimes it has been life or death. So everything I’m writing about is not to say it isn’t possible to be a soldier who is closest with their spouse. It depends on their job, what they’re going through. Any thoughts? Let me know!!


	11. Lucid

This escape plan was proving harder than expected; Merlin kept stumbling over briars and bushes that blocked his way out of the clearing. Each time he had to jump over an obstacle, the knife in his boot scraped an inch of his ankle.

When he was near enough to look back, Merlin took a second to reach for the dagger from his boot. Drawing it out from the sandwiched area between his sock and leg, he saw that blood was already dripping from its tip. The sight of that alone made him queasy, never mind the amount of blood he was about to spill. 

Doing his best to steal his eyes from the castle, Merlin hopped along past the forest's edge, dagger in hand. As he swung his arms he could hear the sound of it whistling when it cut at the air.  
Merlin didn't stop until the adrenaline saving his ankle from pain wore off and the trees were embracing one another, all at arm's length. 

The distance wasn't far, but Merlin didn't want them to have a hard time recovering his body. His body, oh- it sounded terrible. He didn't want to become an object.

The time he had was limited. He collapsed to his knees and sat, then scooted towards a trunk to rest his back on. He was breathing so heavily that stars swirled in his vision; he could barely retain a fluid thought. 

Perhaps that was for the best, he decided, realizing the pain in his palm. He looked to see his knuckles white around the handle of the blade. When he relaxed his fingers open, crescent marks from his nails were bright red in his skin.

There was no putting this off; if Merlin didn't do it this second he would lose his nerve.

He rose onto his knees once again and grasped the dagger with both hands, positioning it straight at his abdomen. That would be the best area, right? Stabbing the heart would be too difficult. Merlin needed to be precise, because he doubted that he would have enough strength to make two wounds.

He closed his eyes, then breathed in deeply.

Was this the right decision?

Would it really work? Would this remove Nicolas from his body? Would it decimate the spirit along with himself?

All were questions he had no answer to. 

And maybe, if he was honest, Merlin wanted to give up. Being the savior of Albion was tiring. If this wouldn't work, his friends surely could find a way. They didn't really need him.

Merlin's eyes stung with tears. He jerked the blade.

For a second, he couldn't feel it. There was something foreign; his stomach did register that. But it felt like he was enveloped in ice.  
His eyes had flung open, unseeing. Before he could stop himself, Merlin glanced down at his abdomen. 

Immediately, like a sick joke, Merlin felt fire. His hands were already coated in a layer of blood, and it wet his shirt as it dragged slowly down to his trousers. 

I don't want this, Merlin thought, and he could hear himself cry out. He squeezed his eyes shut when a wave of nausea hit, before he noticed his right side connecting with the ground. 

His hands had released the hilt of the dagger, but it didn't budge with the fall. Merlin wanted his last thought to be about his friends, his family, but as he stared with foggy sight at the ground and shaded trees above him, all he could focus on was the pain. 

And that didn't change before he lost consciousness.

 

Water.

It tickled his ears as it rushed about him.

He wanted to laugh.

But the water was a little cold; Merlin decided he wanted to sit up and warm himself. 

His eyes peeled open to reveal a bright, grey sky. Even still, the rays of shine burned, so he blinked as he sat up.

To his surprise, Merlin was back at the mountainous area of Adema where the rock intertwined, swerving in rivulets above one another. Pebbled stones bore his weight; the stream struggled through in tiny paths between the rock. Some growth lined the mountains but the most were the sparse flowered-weeds that grew through the spaces between the pebbles. 

Shivering, Merlin reached his hand towards a pair of dandelions near his boots. With two delicate fingers he plucked them and watched, mesmerized, as the wind carried away a few petals. 

It took him a concerning few minutes to recall what had happened; the ghost, the escape, the dagger. But now his torso was unmarred, as if it had sewn itself together within this lucid dream.   
With shaking knees Merlin stood, looking West, then East. In the West was the path back to Adema's citadel while the opposite in the East showed the path to Lothloria, filled with boundless green land.   
He hadn't a clue what to make of this, but Merlin mindlessly wandered to the East, dandelion still snug between his middle and pointer fingers. If he could just get out of the mountains then maybe he could find peace after all this time. 

Something told him a thousand eyes were watching although deciphering whether or not they were there to salute him into the next life or look on in disappointment, Merlin didn't know. He didn't care.   
That's when he heard it- hoof beats.

Merlin turned around, nonplussed. Approaching from a such a distance in the crevice where the rock had yet to swallow the space was a figure clad in red atop a white horse. 

Merlin smiled. This couldn't be the real Arthur since his was alive and well because of the sacrifice he had made, but this had to be the guide that Gaius spoke of. When entering the spirit world, it was rumored that the Triple Goddess would take form as the person closest to you in life, comforting you in the transition. 

Despite half of his clothes being soaked in chilly water, Merlin felt happiness in the warmth spread over his shoulders. This was meant to be; the Triple Goddess was satisfied by his work on earth and was allowing him a happy passage home. He vaguely wondered if Freya, Will, and his father were amongst the trees beyond the mountain's reach. It had been so long without them, but he was finally full in heart. 

This dream with hazy edges began to sharpen; Arthur's figure was rapidly closing the distance as his horse galloped and clapped the stone. But he was misshapen; this Arthur was a little shorter from the torso up, and wore a hood over his head. Merlin couldn't make out any golden hair. 

"Arthur!" Merlin greeted, waving a hand.

His smile wavered when the cloaked Arthur raised his downcast head- it was the face of a man greyed and creased, much like the Fisher King- having lived years beyond the scope of a normal lifetime. This man- creature?- was disgusting; Merlin felt repulsed. 

His feet sparked and flew away from this unknown man; the serenity in the landscape was now an ocean of fear swallowing him, and the thousands of eyes bore into his mind like roaches eating through foundations of a wooden home. The dandelion fell from his hand. 

Merlin ran towards the greenery at the mouth of the mountains, expecting that if he could just get past this area, the old creature wouldn't follow. The sound of hooves beat stronger and faster.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder- it was getting close, too close, so he urged his legs to move even faster, if he could just get to the exit-

The toe of his boot caught on a stone and he looked ahead again in time to see the ground rising to meet him. Merlin tried to stumble with the other leg but it pushed against stones that slipped in the now rampant stream. He fell with a splash into the water, like when he first woke in this foreign land. A jagged rock broke the skin of his cheek upon impact. 

He quickly pushed himself up and tried to crawl pathetically from the creature, but it was too late. He moved nevertheless as he heard the horse stop right behind him and the creature dismount. 

It walked agonizingly slow around Merlin and came to his front. Merlin didn't want to see its ghastly face up close, nor did he want to give it the satisfaction of acknowledgment. 

"Look at me," It commanded. Its voice was deep and surprisingly soft, so much so that Merlin could almost pretend it meant no harm if he just laid back down and returned to his slumber.   
Merlin raised his eyes to the muddy, black boots that the creature wore, but dared not do any more than that.

"I said-" it growled, crouching to its knees. Suddenly a hand was gripped tightly around his throat and Merlin felt pain as his entire body was miraculously lifted upwards. 

"Look at me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know its been a few months- I hope that you all are still interested in the storyline! I did switch colleges and I've visited my fiance twice, so my attention has been elsewhere. I got in a writing rut and finally forced myself to try to get back into this. I have to watch Merlin before I start writing again or else I don't feel too connected to what I'm writing. Its like doing research on a topic, lol. This chapter feels super short imo but it is 1,500 words so I hope that is satisfying enough for now. I have a little more written but I wanted to use that part for the next chapter so I wouldn't feel like I was starting from nothing. It helps me to continue.  
> I don't know when the next update will be but I do know the ending of this, and I'm hoping I can manage it in not too many more chapters because this story is way longer than I ever meant for it to be. It takes a lot out of me! But I've been working on it so long that I would be mad at myself if I never finished it. I'd like to get it done before my fiance comes back in June and we have our wedding- I don't want him snooping on my computer while I'm working only to make fun of me for writing fanfiction, lol! He wouldn't really care, but I have only ever felt okay about writing fanfiction when I went to my first college and all of my classmates started sharing their wattpads with their cringey old fics on there! I'd like to think of this as a real piece of writing, just not my own original story, but built upon one. I mean, they got someone to write book versions of some of the episodes so I don't think its too weird. The show is a fanfiction of Geoffrey of Monmouth's work, but I still feel odd letting others read something where I have manipulated the storyline of existing characters.   
> This is good practice for me, though. I'm hoping to write a real ass novel at some point, but for now, I'd rather write about existing stories. My life is too busy to start on something like that yet.   
> I know I put my instagram on here but if I didn't follow you back its because I totally forgot that I did post about it- I usually don't follow people unless I know them so if you have and I haven't followed you, comment on one of my first posts saying something vague about having read some of my work so that no one else knows about my dirty little fanfiction secret lmao! I've only just now shared my youtube to my friends and family, I can't imagine sharing my writing!   
> My youtube link is in my bio and you can listen to my OG songs on the playlist FOUR, but I haven't added my newest OG yet. I'm hoping to recreate my old songs on a more professional-sounding level so that I can finally call myself a musician who has an album. I don't know whether or not I want to pursue writing or music yet so I'm dabbling in writing with college and music in my own time.   
> I'll be moving states in June as well so that's going to be crazy! I'll be busy packing a lot of May, but if yall want me to update just come back on this page and bug me with comments if its been a while. I cant remember your user, but the person who recently commented on most of the chapters- your notifs got me back into writing lol! Thank you for that!  
> Sorry, this turned into a blogpost- but I hope you're still enjoying; let me know what direction you think this all is going in, what your feelings are about the chapter!


	12. Awakening

He could barely breathe; only a small opening was allowing any air through. Merlin dodged the creature's eyes, but couldn't help staring at its face. It was once a man at the very least, so gaunt and skeletal that it seemed a thin layer of skin had been stretched all over. His hands automatically jerked up to claw at the one choking him; his fingers became greased with soot before Merlin noticed the creature's hand that was at ease. It was blackened like charred skin from the knuckles to the fingertips. 

His face burned red; Merlin could feel a drop of blood slithering down his face from the fresh cut on his cheek.  
The creature grinned maliciously, satisfactorily. 

"You're quite powerful, aren't you?" it stated rather than asked.

Merlin met his eyes with as much dignity and pride he could muster while the life was being choked out of him. Stars were forming in his vision now, and black was buzzing at the edges. 

"Do you not know who I am," the creature inquired. It's playful demeanor morphed into a solemnity.

When Merlin gave no facial response, the creature dropped him. Merlin landed harshly back into the water and gasped for air, coughing when a little water got sucked into his throat.  
He lifted himself with weak arms and glared at it. He tried to speak only to find fire in his throat. 

"I am Nicolas Bourbaki, ruler of Adema."

Merlin's fear gripped his stomach and pulled at his heartstrings; shouldn't this creature- ghost- be dead after what Merlin had done?

Seeing the confusion on Merlin's face, Nicolas responded. 

"Sacrificing your body could not kill me," he said, joining his hands and interlacing his fingers near his abdomen, reminding Merlin of the events that proved worthless. Merlin grabbed at his neckerchief and tugged until it loosened and fell, trying desperately to ease the tightness in his breathing. The cloth was stained with the coal from Nicolas' fingers, which the stream did nothing but solidify into the fabric once it hit the water.  
Merlin cleared his throat and struggled to his knees.

"Why are you doing this," he said, sparing little regard to the worries of whether or not he was still alive and kicking outside of what this must be- a mental prison. 

Nicolas appeared amused. The grotesque structure of his face was even more odd when he grinned.

"You mean to say that you cannot understand a sorcerer's plight? That you willingly allow a Pendragon to command you while you suffer under his rule?"

"Arthur is different," Merlin retorted. "Had you not heard the tales from the Druid people? He is the one who will unite Albion once more and bring freedom for all to the land!"

Nicolas scoffed and looked about, his attention elsewhere, like he didn't want to give Merlin the time of day. The horse huffed and whinnied behind Merlin, just as impatient as its master. 

"The blood of a Pendragon is the blood of a murderer. Nothing has changed, its obvious by your memories. They're giving you false hope. For such a powerful being, why can't you see the blinding truth in front of you?"

Merlin's eyes filled with tears. He was so frustrated, so exhausted. He wished he was truly dead and didn't have to endure this nightmare anymore. 

"You're no better than any of them," Merlin spat. "Violence has never been the answer. All you are doing is creating more hatred; the cycle will never end! How is Arthur to find his way when scum like you shows him the darkness of magic!"

Nicolas' hand swiftly struck Merlin down. He was in the stream again, stunned from the blow.

"I shouldn't have to explain my motives to someone as foolish as you," Nicolas seethed. "You've lost so much at their hands, and yet you remain loyal. I pity you."

Merlin could taste blood. He lifted a finger to his mouth and wiped blood from the broken skin on his lip. The cold, rushing water stung his cheek. 

They took my family from me," Nicolas said, sounding far away. "All that I have done, I have done to avenge them, and to protect this land."

He was tired. So tired. Merlin closed his eyes.

"Its not your time to pass," Nicolas continued. "You have work to do, so I will spare you. First, I must rid England of the Pendragons, once and for all. Sleep now, Emrys."

A finger caressed his unmarred cheek, leaving a trail of soot behind. Merlin felt himself slipping.

"But your time has passed," Merlin whispered, his breath disrupting the stream.

He heard a low chuckle from Nicolas.

"Maybe so," the ghost replied. "But I will not rest until my purpose has been served."

 

Nicolas drew in a breath.

The transition from mental awareness to physical was a hard one- the people he possessed in the past had all been untainted, but Merlin's body was ruptured. 

He could feel the heat of pain in the flesh that hugged the blade and when he opened his- Merlin's?- eyes; the ghost sat up and pulled out the knife with a sickening slurp. Blood ran freely whereas beforehand it was subdued by the pin in the grenade. It was a little too messy for his liking, but there was nothing to do about it. He cast the knife towards the deepening woods.

Mere moments had passed since Merlin's collapse, but it wouldn't be long before his absence was noticed. Nicolas would have to act quickly, or else he would be discovered before he'd made the proper preparations. 

After fifteen minutes' time stumbling further through the woods, Nicolas found a clearing that decidely would do. The sky was darkening and the wind was picking up. It blew the stalks of grass around, so eerily peaceful. 

The figure masquerading as Merlin bent on his knees towards the gritty ground and placed both palms on the earth, crunching the leaves beneath. 

In life, Nicolas was a warlock, but he'd never experienced such power as he did now while invading Merlin. He felt the sorcerer's presence the second Merlin and his companions crossed the border into Adema. With every step closer to the core, the heart of Adema where the castle rested, Nicolas siphoned energy and health from Merlin. Pieces of his own soul filtered in as Merlin grew increasingly sick from the parasitic nature of possession; it was nothing like Nicolas had ever performed before. With most people, he was able to enter their being within no time at all. But this had been worth it. There was no possibility of King Arthur being able to defeat the strongest creature on earth- a creature hiding in plain sight for years, now a weapon used to destroy the very man he sought to protect. 

Nicolas dug deep into the siphoned magic. It was all at his fingertips and finally engulfed, overpowered by the aura of his phantom.

Coming from the borrowed hands, golden light bore into the ground. Nicolas spoke with a tongue so foreign from his own:

"Codwch fy rhyfelwyr ac ymunwch yn y frwydr unwaith eto!"

Normally, eyes that would flash yellow flashed red. The energy flowing from the vessel's hands followed suit. 

Nicolas smiled, feeling adrenaline and serotonin rush throughout him with this expression of magic. He felt unstoppable, and rightfully so. 

A sudden fog blew into the forest that masked all objects; within seconds, the trees were replaced by a grey mist that filled his nose like a drug. A bout of thunder rumbled overhead from the meteorological disruption.  
Nicolas stopped the flow of magic and rose to his feet as spots of rain began to fall, patiently waiting.

It wasn't long before pallid figures grew more visible through the mist. The blue light upon their bodies shone brightly like a lighthouse in a storm, calling Nicolas home.

And home it was, as the fog cleared, revealing his nine most trusted knights; they were before him again like old times in a past age, all smiling with happiness as well as a vengeance. Nicolas grinned fondly before braving the face of a ruler. No words of instruction were needed, only of inspiration. 

"The day has come for us to reclaim the honor stolen time and again by Pendragons," the king shouted. "Today, the blood of the remaining heir will be spilt, and their tyranny will come to an end!"

The nine, ghostly knights raised their fists and let out their battle cries, pure determination causing the glow of their ethereal forms to burn brighter. 

Nicolas heaved air from Merlin's lungs, positively high with passion as they began a march towards the castle grounds. The blood from Merlin's wound poured in a stream that trailed behind Nicolas like bread crumbs left by Hansel and Gretel, and the scleras of his eyes shifted from white, to pink, to red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that, an update that didn't take two months! I've had a super productive week, so let's hope this continues. No promises, lol. We're finally getting to where everybody knows what the shit is going on and battles each other out!


End file.
